Hope
by ShockingViolet
Summary: She's not a leader or even a fighter. She's just one of the nameless few living in Terminal City, and this is her story.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** This work is based on James Cameron's Dark Angel. The characters that you recognise from the show do not belong to me and I am not making any money off this fic.

**AN:** Please feel free to leave comments and criticism. I'm especially interested in hearing what you think of my original characters as it's always hard to strike a balance with them in fanfic.

**Hope**

It always seems to be raining. It was raining on the night of the fire. The kind of rain that you don't really feel but it soaks you to the bone anyway. I saw the signal to return to command that night. A beacon in the sky, leading us home but for some reason I knew not to follow it. I'm not a great soldier, sometimes I barely pass for average, but I'm thankful for whatever good sense made me run that night. Even if I did look back a few times.

I'm not one of those people who hate Manticore and everything to do with it but I like being free. There's a lot to be said for waking up in the morning and cracking open the window, even if the air is far from fresh.

I don't have a name yet. I don't really know anyone here and my old unit mates don't talk to me that much. Or at all. It seems pretty silly to pick a name just to refer to myself and I wouldn't know what to pick either. I thought about Delilah, but that's been taken.

At my worst moments, I remember hard beds and regular helpings of grey, mushy slop. A whole world away from sleeping on cold floors and eating only after a successful food run. All I've done is swap one cage for another and although I really don't think I would go back to Manticore if I had the choice, sometimes I wish I had never learned of anything different.

I question the trade I've made, and I'm sure I'm not the only one. All the boasting and bravado has quickly been eroded by the stink of rot and damp. Youthful thoughts of rebellion and making a stand don't seem as romantic and brave when you're cold and hungry and haven't bathed for a month. My beaten camies cling to me with grease and grime until I get a chance to wash them when it rains.

I don't know anything about this world. And words like honour and dignity are tied up with the American flag and snapshots of war heroes in my sheltered mind but even I feel something is wrong when I see people cooking rats over a flaming garbage bin in order to stave of their hunger for just one more night. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

At least out here, we have a chance, which is more than we had back at Manticore. I cling to that thought everyday. It's hard for me to explain what I mean, but it's the feeling that things might get better. That something good is just around the corner. That maybe things aren't as bad as they seem.

It's hard to know what to do sometimes. Everybody is always moving at the same time, rushing to make things better. All my attempts to help have left me feeling like I'm in the way, under their feet. I wonder sometimes if I'm missing the crucial component that lets them all instinctively know what to do and how to react.

Even back at Manticore, I was always lagging behind on missions, making stupid mistakes that my superior ability should have put me beyond but it never bothered me that much because I never knew anything different. I always thought I was okay, not great but good enough. It wasn't until I got to Terminal City that I realised just how _normal_ and _average_ I was compared to the rest of my unit.

It would take somebody special to show me why that wasn't a bad thing.


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: This work is based on James Cameron's Dark Angel. The characters that you recognise from the show do not belong to me and I am not making any money off this fic.

**AN:** Please feel free to leave comments and criticism. I'm especially interested in hearing what you think of my original characters as it's always hard to strike a balance with them in fanfic.

Dedicated to my friend, Hopeshalott, who has inspired me and puts up with my endless questions of whether this works and that works.

**Chapter One**

"I wont be here tomorrow." Shayna informs us in class the next day. We are supposed to be discussing war and it's effects on society from the lesson plan that Max has handed out but Shayna has always been more interested in gossip.

She scrawls a quotation across a small, stand-up chalkboard before she drops into her chair with a long sigh. "I've been assigned to clean up the Marks as a punishment."

Giggles erupt through the chatter. I don't get the joke myself. I was pretty excited when we began taking lessons but all I've learned so far is that teaching leaves Shayna 'bored out of her skull'.

"What did you do to warrant that?" Trish asks, her eyes glittering with excitement. Her short black hair is gelled into spikes today. She must be trying something different. Olga, a quiet girl with flaming red hair and freckles hisses at her to stop being so nosy but Shayna just grins.

. "Obscenity in a public place or whatever." she shrugs. "I was making out with Kearn and we got a bit carried away. Max caught us and read us the riot act."

She brings her feet up onto her desk. They land with a thud, sending papers and pencils to the floor but if she notices she doesn't seem to care. "I swear those O9'ers have got it made. What with the heat and stuff."

"Yeah, but they get the shakes as well." says Olga, genuine sympathy on her face.

Shayna grimaces. "Yeah, that's gotta suck."

The door bangs open and Lori walks in and drops lazily into her seat. She doesn't bother apologising for being late, mainly because she doesn't care but then Shayna doesn't either and she's the only one that could really stand up to her. The two share a respectful friendship. Usually Shayna, an X5, wouldn't be caught dead having an adult conversation with the X6 'baby group' but Lori is different, beating out even the males in our unit for top spot. She was number one at Manticore and that doesn't seem to have changed.

"Nice of you to join us," Shayna smirks and Lori offers her a placating smile. Her skin is creamy and her light brown hair shows no sign of the grease and dirt we live in her and brown eyes are strong and steely.

"What are we learning tomorrow?" Lori asks, and Shayna's eyes glint with amusement as she relays her brush with authority.

"Acceptable social behaviours, tomorrow. American history on Tuesday. World History, Wednesday. Geography on Thursday and Poetry and other crap on Friday."

Math and science are deemed less important because we were designed with faculties that allowed us to excel at them. Shayna stretches, pulling her long blonde hair into a ponytail. Lori's question has made me brave enough to venture my own.

"Who'll be teaching us tomorrow?" I ask, with perhaps a little more excitement than needed. The chattering gives way to silence and all eyes rest on my face, ranging from Shayna's disgust, Trish's disbelief and Olga's nervous sympathy. Lori looks straight through me. She's never spoken one word to me despite the fact that we've been sharing the same room for two months.

"Is that all you ever think about?" Becca, a squat, blonde haired girl asks. She's my greatest enemy, always chipping away at my appearance, my weakness and anything else she can find. Her voice is like nails on a chalkboard and if she wasn't a better fighter than me then I would probably have smacked her long ago.

I mutter an apology and stare out of the window. Shayna ignores my question and goes back to gossiping about her boyfriend, whoever he is this week. I can't help thinking that life would be so much easier if my lank, dark hair was light and sleek and my eyes were brown instead of hazel. I could do with being a bit stronger, too.

**********************************

"X6-293."

The line at the Food Distribution Center, an abandoned storage facility, would put the fear in even the strongest of soldiers. Everybody is clamouring to make sure they get their fair share. There's pushing and shoving, even some people crying when it just gets too much for them. My first time collecting rations, I wondered if Max and her friends ever had to queue for their food or did they just pick and choose what they wanted. My first, and only, foray into politics.

I raise my hand and step forward to collect my rations. A willowy X5 with long auburn curls hands me a brown paper package. I try to hide my excitement. It may seem pretty stupid but these are the moments we live for. For as long as it lasts we can stop feeling hungry and dirty and thirsty.

"Don't waste it," the woman snaps accusingly. "There won't be any more for two weeks." I nod, clutching my package to my chest. It's easy for food and water to disappear around here. I try to thank her but she's already turned away from me.

"I need extra. I just found out I'm pregnant," A feline faced nomlie begs but the redhead just snorts.

"As if I haven't heard that before. You get what you're allocated. That's the rules." And she goes back to her list, shouting out names and ticking off numbers.

I catch the nomlie's eye. I try to tell myself that she's lying or that even if she wasn't, it's her own fault for being so careless, but I can't help but wonder how I would feel in that situation. I wish I could help her but even if I ration my food and water, it will still only last me six days. Giving her what she needs would put me down to three and definite dehydration and impaired function without the medical facilities and equipment to help me recover.

I work out the equations in my head, and I'm debating whether I can risk it when I see another distributor slip her a few extra tins and bottles of water. I breath a sigh of relief while telling myself that I shouldn't really care. A good solider would focus on the mission, keeping healthy so as to better aid the team, but I can't help the swirl of guilt that settles in my stomach as I think of how long it took me to make a decision, and the fact that I still don't know what I would have chosen to do.

******************************************

I don't go back to my room. I share an old executives office with six other girls who I don't really trust. I find a dark hidden corner, away from prying eyes and carefully set my pack down. It contains three bottles of water, two bags of potato chips, a can of tomatoes, six energy bars and a hygiene pack (travel sized toothpaste and soap and a clean flannel)

I map out a plan in my head. I find it best to keep track if I stick to scheduled mealtimes. I resist the urge to just dig right in but I allow myself a sip of water and a quarter of an energy bar because I haven't eaten in three days and my throat is burning with thirst.

The rest I wrap carefully in the brown paper and tuck it under my cardigan. I always follow the same routine. The ritual is unnecessary but this pack is all I own, besides my dirty camis, my tattered brown cardigan and a tiny hair clip I use to keep my hair off my face.

A drop of water lands on my face and I look overhead, another drop, from a leaking pipe, landing right in my eye. If that was a bullet fired from an enemy weapon, I would be dead right now. Even Trish would have reacted quicker than that, moving out of the way before investigating. I wish I thought a lot quicker, or maybe I wish I didn't think so much at all.

***********


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: This work is based on James Cameron's Dark Angel. The characters that you recognise from the show do not belong to me and I am not making any money off this fic.

**AN:** Please feel free to leave comments and criticism. I'm especially interested in hearing what you think of my original characters as it's always hard to strike a balance with them in fanfic.

**Chapter Two**

I wake early the next day. The sun is just beginning to break through the cracks in the window, bringing the cold with it. The room is freezing so I curl my legs up to try and warm my toes. It is pointless.

My bed is a thin blanket on the floor and a pillow that has lost half its stuffing, and neither offers any protection against the bitter cold.

I suppose the room is in relatively good condition, compared to some of the others around here. It's dusty and cold but without leakages and damp. The walls are painted sterile white and there's a crack in the main window pane but, when I'm alone, it's my favourite place to be.

I yawn, having had little sleep last night. My sleeping patterns still remain irregular, no matter how many times I've tried to correct it. If I ever managed to get some sleep, it was never for more than an hour and even that hour was broken.

I rub my aching eyes and try to shake off the haziness. Sher snores loudly beside me, though she will swear blind that she doesn't. It won't be long before they wake and I'm really not in the mood to deal with them today so I rise quietly and tip toe out of the room.

***************************************************

The buzz of activity is overwhelming. People are dashing here, there and everywhere; carrying bundles of blankets and medical supplies. I ask a nearby X7 what's going on. Her hair is wild and spiky, still growing out from the Manticore issue buzz cut that all of us have been subject to at one point or another.

"Problem with last nights supply run. One of them got shot." Then she leaves, duty done, information delivered.

I push myself back against the wall as I hear a noise echo from down the hallway. A group, fast approaching, loud words and snapped orders. Even I know what that means.

I don't have time to move so I try to make myself as small as possible. Two X5's and a Nomlie, all carrying rifles, barge past me, urging everybody in their path to make way and clear a space. A second group follows behind, carrying a wounded soldier to the infirmary. One of them is holding her hands over his stomach, another is gripping his hand and begging him to hold on.

I hear Max before I see her. "Alec, get Tarran on the walkie. Tell her to prep a bed." She skids round the corner, almost slipping in a pile of the injured man's blood. It makes patterns on the beaten linoleum, all different reds seeping into each other. I think I might be sick.

"Kai? Kai, it's gonna be okay," she urges, leaning down to him. He can't see her, his eyes are closed. I doubt he can even hear her but saying something seems to make her feel better and she keeps whispering desperate words in his ear.

I haven't really seen Max around much. She's far too busy planning and organising and generally trying to resolve the situation outside, but I have heard the talk about our fearless leader. The kind of talk that makes you think we might stand a chance of surviving this siege except here, in front of me, she looks anything but fearless.

Her dark eyes are bloodshot and rimmed purple and she looks like she might be about to cry. "You," she snaps, pointing at me. "Go to the medical supply cupboard. Get me gauze and a few shots of morphine."

I obey, running as fast as my feet can carry me. When I return, a sombre faced medic snatches the supplies from my hand and shuts the door in my face. I don't take it personally. They're a lot busier than I am.

************************************************

I decide to take a walk to clear my head. My mind is swirling with visions of the man's blood on the white floor. I've never seen a person so badly injured and I wonder if he's going to make it. I look at the sky hidden behind tall, imposing buildings and dark clouds.

I've heard whispers about God and religion, enough to piece together an idea about the general concept. Humans turn to something else, something they can't see, when they don't know why things happen. I used to think it was all nonsense, until I found an X4 resting on his knees with his hands clasped and eyes closed. I asked him why he prayed. He told me that he had been alive too long to do anything else.

Still, there's a lot that doesn't make sense to me.

I almost don't notice a rat faced Nomlie glaring at me from the makeshift shelter he is cowering under. I wilt under his vicious stare, not one to leap into a fight if I can avoid it, or even if I can't to be quite honest, and I walk a little faster.

It's not before I'm sprawled on the floor that I even realise I've tripped. I wish I could say over a crate or a stone but it's my own feet that have proven my downfall this time, catching in the material of my too long camies.

I lay on the ground for a second. It's damp with rain and littered with scraps and paper but I take a moment to assess before I push myself up into sitting position. I mutter unintelligibly, cursing myself. I'm an X6, designed to be agile and observant and here I am, falling over my own two feet.

Why do I do these things? Why can't I just pay attention? But despite all my vows to be more alert, to be a better soldier, I just didn't seem to possess the ability to make it all click into place.

A loud snort sounds from behind me and I turn quickly. A group of X5's are laughing at me, nudging each other and generally having a good old joke at my expense. I tell myself it's my own fault, that maybe it will teach me to watch where I'm going next time but their mockery still burns. I feel my cheeks heat up with embarrassment and I busy myself by checking for injuries.

"Did you enjoy your trip?" A dark haired man, with similar features and colouring to Max, asks. He is holding his sides, bellowing laughter. I'm glad he finds his attempt at humour funny, because I don't.

A tall blonde grins at him. "Don't make 'em like they used to,"she smirks, her brown eyes shining with something approaching disgust and I duck my head in shame. Another man stands next to her, light brown hair and warm green eyes. He is tall, almost as tall as Joshua, and he gives me a pitying smile.

I don't return it. I gather what is left of my shattered pride and walk away, daring to narrow my eyes at the other two and then wondering if they are going to chase me down the street and beat me.

****************************************************

My room is empty. I breathe a sigh of relief as I drop down onto my bed and lift up the leg of my dirty camies. I've escaped with nothing more than a minor graze on my knee and I clean it gently, trying to preserve as much of my water ration as I can.

Footsteps sound down the hall and I pause, then hurry to hide my wound as they get closer. I don't want to give Becca anymore ammunition against me. She's already telling everybody that I'm abnormal---a failure.

The door opens and my stomach drops as three girls file in, Lori shoots me an angry glance, as though I am somehow invading her territory. Becca grimaces and drops down onto her sleeping bag with a dramatic sigh.

"I think I'm going to ask him," she says. Lori simply rolls her eyes but Trish looks at her with horrified fascination.

"You can't. He'll say no." Trish says, picking up a magazine from her storage space. Becca snatches it out of her hand and flips it open.

"Gee thanks for the vote of confidence." She says, her voice laced with sarcasm. Both Trish and I know that she doesn't care what Trish thinks. "Besides, how do_ you_ know what he'll say?"

Trish didn't answer. In this twisted little hierarchy, she is at the lowest rung on the ladder. Becca gives a satisfied smile at her silence and turns to Lori. "What do you think, Lor?"

Lori shrugs. "Trish is right. You don't have a chance in hell. You're too young for Alec."

"I'm almost eighteen," Becca spits, offended, but she quickly shuts up at Lori's stern gaze. She catches me watching their exchange and throws the magazine to one side.

"I don't know what you're laughing at," she hisses.

"I wasn't" I stutter but my protestations do no good.

Her stub nose is scrunched up, making her look very unattractive. She would probably be a lot prettier if she smiled but she rarely does. "I mean, it's rich coming from someone who doesn't even want a boyfriend."

I bite back a sigh. Boyfriends were the new social requirement, ever since Shayna had scored some back issues of Cosmopolitan that Kearn picked up while on a scavenge. Lori had a boyfriend, an X5 named Reese, which made X5s the holy grail of significant others. Trish was only dating an X6 but that's still better than being single and unwanted.

I wonder if stuff like this happens on the outside. Are boyfriends that important? Cosmopolitan seems to think so but how many women really apply these rules to their lives? I know that transgenics are often instinctive creatures, due to our genetics and conditioning. We work in packs that make us stronger, our animal DNA urges us to find compatible mates---even if Manticore was never fond of that particular attribute.

I know our very existence is a product of human intelligence. I find it hard to believe that trivial matters such as boyfriends and make up are really that important in a world that allows humans to create beings in their own image, a world in which technological advancements are becoming increasingly commonplace. There is so much to discover and learn. Why would intelligent beings waste so much time being in love and painting their faces?

My logical assessment is that Cosmopolitan represents only a small portion of society. Most humans are probably too busy gaining knowledge and learning about the world they live in to worry about such things, but I can't say for sure. There's just so many questions I don't have answers to.

Manticore used to tell us that the world was dirty, diseased and corrupt, people were just out for themselves, but I see a mass of people standing next to each other outside the fence, sharing hot drinks and smiling despite the threat they think we pose, and for the first time, I feel like I might have been happier if I was just a normal, outside girl. I would have a place to belong, people who believed what I did, and I would never worry about what Becca thinks of my hair or feel desperate to find a boyfriend so the others won't think I'm a freak.

******************************************************


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: This work is based on James Cameron's Dark Angel. The characters that you recognise from the show do not belong to me and I am not making any money off this fic.

**AN:** Please feel free to leave comments and criticism. I'm especially interested in hearing what you think of my original characters as it's always hard to strike a balance with them in fanfic.

**Chapter Three**

"When your number is called, step forward and you will be taken to an allocated booth."

I pull back on my hearing as the nomlie's voice booms around us. He obviously didn't get the memo about our enhanced sensory abilities. When he has finished his announcements, I slowly retune, so I won't miss my number being called.

The booths he mentioned consist of various tables and chairs stowed away in dark corners as to afford the most privacy. The walls around them are fixed with mismatched, hole ridden curtains that stink of damp and must and will do absolutely nothing to keep a transgenic from hearing all your private details.

I don't care. There is nothing in my history that hasn't been conducted by tacticians and soldiers or pored over by scientists. I'm sure someone out there has my whole life on file.

My number is called and, as promised, I am led to a booth and instructed to take a seat. A sour faced X4, her skin beginning to show her age, is sitting behind a makeshift desk and sifting through papers. Her workspace is bare, save for a pencil and a plastic folder.

"Do you know why you're here?"

"Yes," I reply. It is another one of Max's schemes to help us adapt and thrive in our new environment. I don't deride her motivations too much. I need all the help I can get.

"My name is Shara and I'll be assessing you and taking your details so we can match you with the most appropriate mentor." She says mechanically. I wonder if she is reading from a script. She seems very bored.

I nod but her eyes are raking over her page of questions. "Name or designation?"

"X6-293."

She rolls her eyes at my enthusiastic reply. "Barcode number?"

I don't see why it's important but I tell her anyway. It is not my place to question orders. "443219865293"

"Do you prefer to be called by your name or designation?"

"My designation. I don't have a name." I qualify, but she doesn't seem at all interested. Her pencil is scratching away. "Current sleeping quarters?"

"Building four, Block six, Room Eight." I bite back the urge to tell her that the paint has started to peel and the door hinges are loose. It's surprising the things you want to share when there is nobody to talk to.

"Did you receive any extra training at Manticore besides the standard training you would have undergone with the rest of your unit?" She specifies, in case I don't understand the definition of extra. I get the feeling she thinks I'm a bit stupid.

"No, I received basic reconnaissance, combat and techno---,"

She holds up a hand and shakes her head. "Whatever. Do you have any special skills or did you excel in any subject?"

"Uhm, I was pretty good at languages."

Another sharp look. "Define pretty good."

I sit up, back straight, thankful for my chance to impress. We had only just begun our education in languages before the fire broke out but I seemed to pick it up pretty easy. "I am adept at conversational French and reached stage two of Russian and Chinese."

She laughs. At me, and I think I hear a chuckle from two tables over. She shakes her head again and puts her pencil to paper. "It doesn't matter. It's not important anyway."

My cheeks heat and I have to resist the urge to duck my head. It feels like every eye is on me. Lowering my eyes to the floor, I make a point to keep my mouth shut until I am asked to expand on any given answer.

Shara looks up, trying half heartedly to hide a smirk. "Do you have any religious affiliations?"

I want to ask exactly what that means but I don't want to show my ignorance so I simply reply "No." She seems pleased by this answer.

"Is it a requirement that your mentor be of the same gender or series as you?"

The question surprises me. "You mean, my mentor could be a nomlie?"

She grimaces. "Yeah, is that a problem?"

I'm not sure. "Uh, no. That's okay." I say but she seems to register my uncertainty. Her eyes narrow and her gaze scrutinizes my expression. "Are you sure?" she asks. "You can say yes, if you want to."

I fidget in my seat and turn my eyes from her heavy stare. I weigh the odds. Maybe she's trying to entrap me, test my level of acceptance and tolerance. If I say no, I might be reprimanded for trying to cause dissension, but she seems to be urging me to admit my wariness. "I think—yes, that's a problem."

Shara leans back in her seat with a placated smile on her face and scribbles at her paper before handing me another sheet with a knowing wink. Only a simple 'next!' informs me that our meeting is over.

With a sigh, I trudge out of the room, my mind still focusing on that last question. The nomlies make me nervous, I can't lie about that. They are so different and some are so hostile but then there are others, like the feline woman in the distribution queue the other day. She seemed normal enough, and things are a lot harder for them out here than it is for those of us who can blend in.

If I was braver, I would have requested a nomlie mentor, to help me overcome my apprehension towards them but I can't help but feel glad there is no chance of that happening. And I can't help but feel that there is something wrong with that.

*****************************************************

I get my mentor assignment six days later. I make my way to a small meeting room, which will be allocated to us on rotation every Monday and Thursday.

She is leaning back in a desk chair, leather boots propped on the oakwood table. Sleek blonde hair is falling over her shoulders and the brightest blue eyes are underscored with dark, smoky make up. I can tell by her long, graceful limbs that she is a lot taller than me and even with my limited knowledge of such things, I know she is beautiful.

"I'm Jondy," she says, taking in my appearance with cold eyes. I feel a swell of excitement settle in the pit of my stomach. I'm going to be mentored by Max's favourite sister. An 09'er. Someone with enough courage and skill to escape Manticore the first time around.

She flips through my file and I just stand and watch in awe. There are few who don't feel admiration for the 09'ers feat—even those who grumble about it being reckless and selfish have to admit the sheer skill and cunning behind the escape. If they don't agree with their reasons for leaving then they at least respect their ability to get past Lydecker and evade him for so long.

"Listen up kid. I'm only doing this as a show of unity for Max and her ideas. I have a life, so if you're expecting me to babysit you and trail around after you, forget about it. It's not gonna happen."

I open my mouth, not even knowing what I intend to say but she cuts me off before I can speak.

"Here's the deal. You be here every Monday and Thursday and don't be late. I don't like to be kept waiting. And bring a book or some schoolwork to keep you busy."

Then with another derisive look and a snort, she leaves. It's hard to describe the feeling I am left with. It is maybe a sense of---deflation, or disappointment but whatever it is, I don't like it.

*****************************************************

I manage to fall into a restless sleep, tormented by desperate nomlies and hard X5's and faceless people who do nothing but laugh at me. Every time I try to reach out to them, they fall back, giggling and mocking me until I wake up.

The feelings don't go away upon my awakening. They feel worse because there is no escape from the real world. I am not special and no matter what I do, I will never be special. I am too short, my hair is dry and brittle and my eyes are too many different colours.

When I try to do the right thing, I make a fool of myself. I feel like I don't belong in this city or this state or the world. I don't know what's wrong with me only that something is. I wish I was like the others. I wish I could fight and be intelligent. I wish my skin wasn't so patchy and red and I wish I didn't have hair on my legs or above my lip.

I feel wrong and—ugly, and I'll never get a boyfriend because boyfriends don't like ugly girls so I'll be alone forever.

Most of all I wish that I didn't feel anything. I want to be able to watch a pregnant nomlie beg for food and assess the situation without emotion. I want to be logical and sound. I want there to be a purpose for my existence.

I don't want to be here anymore and I don't want to have to sneak out of my room so the others won't hear me crying.

******************************************************


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** This work is based on James Cameron's Dark Angel. The characters that you recognise from the show do not belong to me and I am not making any money off this fic.

**AN:** Please feel free to leave comments and criticism. I'm especially interested in hearing what you think of my original characters as it's always hard to strike a balance with them in fanfic.

**Chapter Four**

It's still dark outside but I can hear the distant sound of birds chirping. I estimate that it is an hour until sunrise but I am stupid and ugly so that might not be correct.

My sobs have faded a few hours ago and I'm left with a shameful self pity that I even gave into my emotions in the first place, but that has always been my problem. I haven't moved from the wooden crates I am hiding behind.

It is raining quite heavily but my shelter protects me from the worst of it and my legs are curled up to my chest to protect me from the cold. I rest my head on the crates and close my eyes with a sigh. I can feel the edge of sleep, threatening to pull me under but never quite making it. It's been two weeks since I've slept for more than an hour. I may start to go mad soon enough. Delirium is a common side effect of chronic insomnia.

Bright lights dance behind my closed eyes and the sound of rain settles in my ears. I feel an intense dullness, hear the loud, low hum of each drop. A shrill drip on a lead pipe, the rippling of a shallow puddle. All sounding so clear yet distant. Far away.

A metallic thud pulls me from my dazed state. I hold my breath, make a concious effort to slow my racing heart and try to remain as quiet as possible while I peek through the wooden slats. My intruder is young, female, and from the back I can see a mane of long black hair weaved with thick violet strands, pulled back in a messy ponytail.

She kicks at the bin again, almost a soft tap, but it leaves a dent in the metal. With a sigh, she rolls it over with her foot and drops onto it. Her face is soft, tracked with elaborate make up that makes it hard to tell if she is beautiful or not. A small blue flower is painted on one cheek, a tiny pink heart at the corner of one eye.

All of it is smudged and ruined by the rain, dripping down her cheeks in a confection of colour, but her face is free of the worry and tired pallor that marks most of the residents of Terminal City. She scans the street, eyes flickering over my hiding spot and rises slowly.

My breath catches in my throat. I really don't wish to add stalker or voyeur to the list of all the things that are wrong with me. I fold into myself as much as I can in a last ditch attempt to remain hidden. My lungs protest at the effort of my position.

"Come out, come out wherever you are," she sings and my heartbeat kicks up a notch. I venture another look from between the wooden slats, just in time to see her sauntering over, a cattish grin on her face. She kicks the crates, sending one toppling down on me but the rest clear the sides.

Her predatory grin morphs into a mask of apathy as she sees me. "Sorry, kid. I thought you were a peeping tom or something."

I have no idea what she means and I don't ask. Something about her terrifies me. She pulls a crate up and sits beside me, cold blue eyes assessing my face. "Why are you here?" she asks, voice bored and uninterested.

I wonder if she is referring to the street we are on or Terminal City overall. "I had a bad dream," I say. That's vague enough. I shiver slightly, partially because of the cold but mostly because her dark blue eyes never leave my face.

She smirks conspiratorially."You win?"

"In my dream?" I don't understand her question. I am about to ask her to explain when her expression shifts again.

"Whatever," she says with a bored shrug. She kicks at a stone, scuffs the ground with her feet. "What's your name?" she asks.

I sit up a little straighter, a little more confidence behind me. Names are familiar territory. "I don't have a name, but my designation is X6-293."

She purses her lips, whistles an unfamiliar tune and looks at the sky. There is a long pause and I think she might have forgotten that I am there.

"That's boring. You should have a name. How about Elizabeth? I knew a girl called Lizzie once but Lizzie is common." There is a detachment in her voice at the last part, as though she is quoting someone else. "Do you like that?" she adds, her gaze searing into mine again.

Truth be told, I don't have any opinion of the name Elizabeth. Or any name for that matter but something in her eyes frightens me, so I nod. "Yes, it's very nice."

"Cool," she says. "We can call you Beth."

I can only determine that Beth must be a short form of Elizabeth but I still don't understand why she asked for my opinion on a name I'm not really going to possess. I decide not to bring it up.

The conversation fades out and I rack my brains for everything I've learned about normal social behaviour. I curse Shayna for not being a more willing teacher. "What's your name?" I ask, grabbing hold of the only spark I can find.

"Hope," she answers. One word, but it tells me everything I need to know. A chill of fear creeps up my spine, more intense than any I've felt so far. I've heard the rumours, caught fleeting snippets of gossip and I've always wondered what one had to do to warrant even the most hard hearted of soldiers calling you a cold blooded killer.

"You should clean that up," she says, pointing to the ripped knee of my camies and the wound underneath them. "You don't wanna get the mange or something." There is a strange inflection to her words, an unfamiliar drawl that I can't place. A world away from the clipped, clear tones of the rest of us.

"I will," I mutter, feeling the effort on my dry throat. The rain is running steadily down my face by now, trickling in my eyes and blurring the scene before me. I swipe it away with the back of my hand.

She talks to me for a few minutes longer about nothing of any importance. Her mouth twists into a sneer as she mentions Max's latest plan, weekly therapy sessions for all TC residents. "Maybe if she spent more time trying to get food and water, instead of cooking up these half baked ideas, then people wouldn't need therapy."

"She just wants us to be happy," I say, but my pithy defence sounds weak against her scorn.

She laughs bitterly, rises to her feet and dusts herself off. "Well, I'm leaving now. Catch you around."

And within seconds she is gone. Like she never existed at all.

I keep staring long after she's left. I don't know enough to say whether I've made a real friend or not, but I feel a little better and at least I haven't spent the whole night wallowing in self pity. It's only then that I realise the sun has risen, and I hadn't even noticed.

*******************************************************

I pass the pregnant Nomlie on my way back to base. She is huddling under a plastic cover. A thin film of fur on her bare arms glistens with the rain she can't keep out. There are tiny skeletons and corpses of rats and mice stuffed in one corner. I can make out a half devoured cat. She meets my eyes with a look of shame and self disgust.

"It's not mine," she says, her words a slight lisp. "It belongs to my mate. He has bear DNA."

She's lying to herself more than anyone so I nod and give her a slight smile. Her eyes glisten slightly. "I wouldn't do that. I'm as much them as I am human. You have to believe me."

"I do," I say, even though I don't. She smiles sadly. I've never been a very good liar, and I can't really blame her. She has a baby to protect and I've heard it said that an X5 mother would move heaven and earth to give her child what it needs. Why should she be any different?

"I have some spare rations. I don't eat a lot so I tend to store whatever is left over. I'll bring them by tomorrow."

Her eyes widen slightly in surprise and I can see the familiar conflict. We are soldiers, superior beings, beyond charity and need, but she's a mother and her instinct tells her to accept my offer.

"It's not a lot. Just a few tins of tomatoes and a half bag of potato chips. I can spare them. They'll just go rotten anyway. "

She nods, one brisk sharp nod to protect what's left of her dignity and with a departing smile I walk away. My stomach sinks as I realise what I've done. It's another five days to rations and I've just promised what's left of my supply to a desperate nomlie.

But as I look back at her, a hint of a smile on her face, one hand over her stomach, I realise that I might have made the right choice for once.

****************************************************


	6. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** This work is based on James Cameron's Dark Angel. The characters that you recognise from the show do not belong to me and I am not making any money off this fic.

**AN:** Please feel free to leave comments and criticism. I'm especially interested in hearing what you think of my original characters as it's always hard to strike a balance with them in fanfic.

**Chapter Five**

The next few months are slow. I've succumb to regular bouts of depression, fleeting (or not so fleeting) moments of worthlessness and apathy. I don't know what's wrong with me. Becca's words hit deeper, Lori's complete ignorance of my existence burns a little more. I've taken to staring at my face in a broken piece of glass that I keep under my bed, and imagining how much better things would be if I just looked and acted differently.

Things are getting harder here. Not just for me but for all of us. Factions have began to form. Some, irritated by Max's irregular progress, have broken ranks; declaring themselves leaders of their own private sectors and drawing invisible lines across the city.

My pregnant Nomlie friend passed away. I stopped by often, bringing her as many of my rations as I could spare. I found her and her mate curled up together, his hand round her thin shoulders the other clasped over her swollen stomach. She looked peaceful but his face was twisted in grief. Tarran, the chief medic, said it was starvation that killed her, the baby was taking the nutrients away. I didn't ask how her mate died, I could see the deep slits on his wrists when I found them.

I wondered if Kearn or Reese would ever do that for Shayna or Lori.

*******************************

"Ralph, Sian and Devin. You're on collection duty. Remember, wood, metals and cloth materials are the priority. Anything else can go in the sorting box. 293, you take clean up on Richmond."

Marcie, the X5 in charge of clean-up and collection, handed me a broom and pointed in the direction I was supposed to head. I had been recruited to clean up in the Marks, a duty usually reserved as a punishment for minor indiscretions. The Marks was the most run down area of Terminal City, a haven of filth and derelict buildings.

Max was in desperate need for the area to be habitable since her deserters had taken over the buildings she had planned to convert into housing accommodation.

I set to work, sweeping my broom methodically, boxing the space off and memorising the pattern so I wouldn't clean the same area twice then I allowed my mind to drift. I didn't think of anything in particular. I thought about the outside world and the mass hysteria that was still a product of our being here. The protests outside the fence had died down but the threat was far from over. I had heard enough gossip to know that it was only getting worse.

Humans were being lynched on the street, beaten to death. 'Suspected transgenic' became an excuse to get rid of someone you didn't like. It was understandable, the authorities said while urging people not to take the law into their own hands and granting them leniency when they did.

News stations from across the world were still covering the siege 24/7. Experts were still giving their opinions, debates were still raging. And we were still struggling to survive. We should probably have been a lot better at this than we were proving ourselves to be, but despite our training and superior genetics, we still felt the cold. We still went hungry.

Back at Manticore, I had often wondered about the outside world. What would it be like? What would it look like? Never in my darkest thoughts had I imagined this. They told us the world was dirty, diseased...dying, but seeing was believing and now I wanted to be anywhere but here. I want to be back at barracks where it is warm and clean. I want to be away from these people who are always so busy and stoic.

Warm hands cover my eyes and a menacing voice whispers "Are you following me?" I froze, kicking myself for not paying attention. I hadn't heard anyone come up behind me, I could be dead by now and all due to my carelessness.

The hands spin me around and I breath a sigh of relief. Hope. She is smirking at me. "Jesus, don't look so scared. I was kidding."

"I'm not scared" I stutter.

"Yeah, right."she sighs, dropping onto an abandoned jeep. "I bet they've told you all about me. Hope the psycho murderer. They're just jealous because none of them had the smarts to think of it first."she mutters.

"Think of what?"

She is quiet for a moment, then she jumps up and grabs me by the arm. "Let's sit over here. In the sun."

I follow her, watching as she drops to the dirty ground and stretches her legs out in front of her. Her head is tipped back and the sun plays across her features, mixing orange with the bright blues and purples she favours for make up.

"What did you do to get put on clean up duty?" she asks, a delighted smile on her face.

"Nothing. We've all been assigned to tidy up. It's done on a rota."

Her smile doesn't fade, morphing into a mischievous grin."Shame, thought you were gonna tell me something fun." She leans back on her hands and tilts her head again. Her eyes are closed, hair hanging loose around her painted face. Tiny symbols this time in a variety of stark colours. I want to ask her what they mean but I don't dare.

"You part of this mentor program?"

Yes," I say with a nod, mimicking her position. She opens her eyes and smiles at me. It's a warm smile, not mocking or bitter. "Who did you get?"

"Jondy, but sometimes she doesn't show up."

She grimaces then sits up. I follow suit. "Sucks to be you." Her gaze turns reflective and she bites her lip thoughtfully. "Excellent," she says, about something only she can see. I'm quickly learning not to even try to make sense of her.

She turns to me with a malicious smile. "Not anymore she isn't." and she grabs me under the arm.

"What about you, the person you're mentoring?"

Hope lets out a whoop of laughter."Are you kidding? They wouldn't let me within ten feet of impressionable young minds."

"I'm not sure," I start. She rolls her eyes and sighs dramatically. "Sit down and tell me what your problem is."

I do. "I asked Jondy about you. She says you're-- unreliable, that you can't be trusted."

She laughs, a real expression of amusement on her face. "Jondy hates me."

I bite my lip, wondering if it's a wise decision to voice my next statement."She says you're dangerous."

She rolls her eyes."I _am_ dangerous. We're all dangerous. Look, Jondy hasn't liked me since we were kids. And she's always been pissed that I was one of the ones who escaped and not another of her 'brothers and sisters'" she says mockingly.

"Escaped? You're an 09'er?"

"Sure. And that's the problem. They're jealous of me, Because while they were on the run eating out of garbage cans, I was living the high life—the free life. I'm a reminder that they just settled for a bad situation, when they didn't have to."

I shake my head. I don't even bother asking what she means. I'm pretty sure it's one of those topics that she'll just dodge anyway. "The way they talk about you---they think you're bad and evil, I--"

The shift in her expression leaves me momentarily stunned. She looks furious, lips pulled back in the makings of a snarl, white teeth glinting in the sunlight. She suddenly looks older, every bit of her twenty years.

I see her shoulders shudder as she take a deep, controlled breath. "That's because they don't _know_ anything, and I'm not about to tell them. Look Beth, don't do me any favours. If you wanna be another mindless drone following orders, be my guest but let me know if you ever decide to start thinking for yourself."

I open my mouth to speak and then close it again when I can't find the words.

"Do I seem bad and evil to you?" she asks, a daring edge to her voice. I think about it for a moment. She scares me, there's a calculated wildness behind each and every action, but she doesn't seem bad or evil. Not to me, so I shake my head and say "No"

She smiles, a broad grin with a promise of mischief behind it. "See, so there's nothing to worry about is there?" She hauls herself up of the ground. "Well, what are you waiting for? Lets go."

"Where?" I ask, taking the hand she extends to me and allowing her to pull me up.

"To the only place around here that isn't stuffed to the brim with boring idiots." She pauses for a moment, amusement shining in her eyes, dancing from one foot to the other, before saying;

"Dystopia."

And then she takes my hand again and pulls me along.

*******************************************

I'm trying hard not to trip as we manoeuvre the back alleys of Terminal City. There are crates and old furniture strewn around, the only evidence of the looting and rioting that apparently broke out after the pulse.

I wonder how desperate you would have to be to pillage a place rife with toxic chemicals.

Hope is keeping up a steady conversation ahead of me. I watch as she weaves her way through an obstruction of rusty vehicles with more than a hint of envy.

"It was an old genetics lab, specialising in medical applications. There's this cool underground complex but hardly any of us go down there."

I let the 'us' go in favour of asking why. She grins, leaning towards me to whisper conspiratorially.

"Well, it's a secret---like a covert base. They were doing some cutting edge stuff down there, the kind that makes Manticore look practically pure and holy. The problem is, they kept their _experiments_ in electronically controlled cells, so when the pulse hit---,"

"They escaped." I whisper.

Hope nods, the grin still plastered on her face. "Yep, had a field day. Escaped and killed all the workers. I suppose someone managed to close the doors before he got chewed up and they all just—died off."

"You suppose?"

"Well, yeah. It's all just guesswork. I mean, no one can really know what happened down there. All we know is that the place is littered with half eaten humans and dead---things. And it stinks really bad." She shrugs.

"You've seen them—the creatures?" I ask, sufficiently horrified. As I suspect was her intention.

"Well, what's left of them. They weren't, like, slavering beasts or anything. They were just humans, seriously deformed and messed up humans. Y'know what I mean. They weren't pretty like us." She smiles.

And with that parting shot, we were off again.

***********************************************

We reach an abandoned building, a typical square block standing only three floors high. It looks unassuming, the last place you would think of when it comes to secret government experiments. It's is a world away from the grandeur of Manticore or the mass of offices that we currently use for base, but then I suppose that's the point. Deception is a great weapon when used properly.

Hope grabs at the entrance door and turns to me with a now familiar grin on her face. It leaves me both curious and terrified.

"Welcome to the funhouse." she says before pushing open the doors.

*******************************************************


	7. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** This work is based on James Cameron's Dark Angel. The characters that you recognise from the show do not belong to me and I am not making any money off this fic.

**A/N:** I'm not particularly impressed with this chapter so please feel free to let me know your honest opinions on it. Don't be surprised if this one is edited slightly sometime in the future.

Chapter Six

The doors open up into a large, dusty lobby. Hope beams at the sight in front of her as though she's stepped into a grand palace. I wonder what it is she's seeing. There is no light or heating but we still have a few hours of sun left, and so we amble through a series of corridors, leading right round the building and Hope keeps up a steady stream of chatter as she practically skips ahead of me.

"Isn't this place great?" She asks. It's not but if she notices my lack of agreement she doesn't seem bothered by it. "It's just a bunch of research offices really, I mean, it's got that cool underground part like I said but some of that is still unfinished."

The corridor we are currently in looks exactly like all the others we have viewed, though it is slightly lighter and airy. There are offices to the west but the other side is glassed. I look out and I can see a large, paved yard outside that seems to be enclosed by the building.

Hope peers over my shoulder and I jump at her sudden presence. "I have plans for that," she says, and her voice takes on a dreamy quality. I'm about to ask what she means when she grabs my arm and pulls me back in the direction we've just come from. She always seems to be in a hurry.

"Come on, I'll show you around."

****************************************

As we make our way back to the lobby, Hope begins her tourist guide routine, as she calls it. "This floor has an employee canteen _and_ a staff kitchen. It still has all the appliances and facilities. Pretty shocking, huh? I thought they would have gotten looted but they probably left it coz it has to do with cooking and it might have made them sick." She finally takes a breath. "Course, there's no power to use any of 'em but it's still pretty cool, dontcha think?"

I nod. "What else is here?" I ask, peering at the door as though it might suddenly open and reveal the next room. I don't know why I do things sometimes.

"Well, there's bathrooms and storage rooms. Conference rooms and offices. There's a whole outbuilding of offices out back, but you wouldn't know it's a separate building coz it's still attached to the main base. Through those corridors we just come from," she adds, for clarity. She also helpfully points it out.

I hear footsteps at the main entrance. Hope doesn't appear to pick up on it so for one brief moment I wonder if I might be imagining it. I'm still having trouble sleeping and from my research (courtesy of an old medical book I found while doing a shift in the infirmary) hallucinations are a side effect of sleeplessness.

I feel slightly relieved, for it means I am not going crazy, as the door opens and the most beautiful woman I've ever seen walks into the room. She gives me a once over, thoughts flickering behind her bright blue eyes. "Stray?" she asks, her gaze never leaving mine. She must be at least 6ft tall.

Hope comes to stand by my side. "Nah, she beds down over at base. One of Shayna's class, but she's cool. So far." she adds with a cheeky glance my way. Somewhere behind her gaze, I can see a thoughtful assessment.

The other woman nods and a cascade of snowy white hair falls around her shoulders. Her skin is so pale it practically shimmers."Sizzle and I are working downstairs. He thinks he might be able to re-wire the electrics so we can get power in the operating rooms, otherwise we'll have to use the smaller rooms and that just won't do."

With that said, she leaves. She almost floats out of the room, she's so graceful and I can barely make sense of what I've just seen.

"Gorgeous, isn't she?" Hope asks with a knowing smile on her face. I shake my head, still trying to gather my thoughts.

"She's----,"

"A nomlie? Not all of them are scales and fur. Nobody is really sure what Merle's splash of juice is." She bites her lip thoughtfully. "We've narrowed it down to some kind of insect, because her limbs are longer than human. Sizzle reckons she's part praying mantis, but I think it would have been cool if she was part cricket. Y'know, like that guy from Pinnochio."

She rolls her eyes at my blank look. "Whatever, mantis is probably the best bet if you've ever seen her in a temper. She's tough as old boots, Merle. Her fingers, because they're so long, well, they make her a pretty good medic. Best in this place, if you ask me, but Tarran's still chief. Only difference between them is that Tarran is an X5, not a nomlie."

"You think—but why would Max do that?" I ask. Some of her closest friends are Nomlies. Hope lets out a snort of laughter.

"Max reckons it's because Tarran has experience whereas Merle spent her Manticore days stuck in a basement. She was an experiment, see. Not like those other noms that were made for a specific purpose. Everything she knows about medicine she's learned on the outside or from books—she still researches now. But if you asked me who I trusted to save my life, it would be Merle everyday of the week."

"She said she was going to work on an operating room?"

Hope laughs and I know I'm not going to get an answer out of her. "That's just boring stuff. I'll tell you later. Come on," she says, grabbing my arm once more. "I'll show you upstairs."

***********************************************

The second floor is just as bright and dusty as the first. Hope tells me that it's mainly just offices and conference rooms, plus the obligatory bathrooms, that make up this floor. Though she supposes one or two of them were function rooms before the rot set in.

"And the third floor is pretty much the same. Fifty two offices that go right round the building. Well almost right round," she adds, thinking of the one storey outbuilding north of the grounds. "And that ends the tour for the day."

"Can we go downstairs?" I ask, still sickeningly fascinated by her story about the lower levels.

She laughs, placating. "I think you're still a little fresh for that. You need a strong stomach---and mind---to go down there."

"I'll be okay," I answer, an almost pleading edge to my voice but Hope is having none of it.

"All in good time," she says, placing her arm around my shoulder and leading me to the stairs. She rummages through her pockets as we take a seat at the top step and hands me half a chocolate bar. We eat in silence for a few moments until a question pops into my head. "Hope?"

"Yeah?" she replies through a mouthful of chocolate.

"Merle said she was going to work with Sizzle. Who is that?"

She swallows hard and then lets out a soft chuckle. "Sizzle is—you get used to him, eventually. He's a nomlie too, but he has crocodile DNA and he's bout as grumpy as one too. According to Sizzle, the whole world is one big sham. Everything is a conspiracy. He's way too cynical about things."

"So he lives here too?"

She thinks it over for a moment. "Not really. None of us _live_ here. We all just come here, y'know what I mean? Like, we didn't wake up one morning and say_ 'this is my home now_'. More like we just ended up here one day and we're still here."

It doesn't make sense to me of course but then little about Hope does. "Who else liv--_stays_ here?" I ask.

"Well, there's Persephone, an X4. I named her," she states proudly, "and Maine. She's another experiment in which the results proved _undesirable._" Her voice has taken on a scornful, bitter edge. "Maine is part feline, more feline than the others running around here, but they screwed up. Y'know how cats can see in the dark? Well, so can Maine but the experiments messed up the part of her DNA, or eyeballs, that lets her see in daylight. She's completely blind unless she's in a pitch black room."

Talk about feline nomlies has me thinking about my old friend. The last piece of chocolate feels like a bitter lump in my throat and I struggle to swallow it. "I hate it here," I whisper.

Hope leans back and lets out a sigh. "Join the club."

She grins at my look of shock and I shake my head. "Sorry, you just seem so—happy all of the time. Like nothing bothers you."

"You're right. Why would being barricaded in a toxic waste dump with no food, water or clothing bother me?"

I make a note of her sarcasm and for a minute I think I might have offended her until she rolls her eyes and playfully smacks me over the head. "Kid, it's a shit situation for everyone. We're all in the same boat. It's how you handle it that sets you apart."

I sigh. "Some of us just don't seem---adapted to handle it."

"So you're gonna give up because Manticore's way doesn't work for you? There's other ways of learning, of fighting. Maine gets up every morning and faces a world she can't even see. Sizzle works for an ideal he doesn't even believe in. And I choose to be happy. You've got to find a way that works for you, when you've done that—everything will just seem easier."

Her words sink in slowly. They leave me feeling—warm, almost full inside—like I've discovered that there might be something better for me. When I look back at Hope, she's staring off to something in front of her that only she can see and she's smiling.

***********************************************


	8. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** This work is based on James Cameron's Dark Angel. The characters that you recognise from the show do not belong to me and I am not making any money off this fic.

Chapter Seven

I make my way through Terminal City with the instructions to meet Hope at base. Max needs her expertise for a matter that she refuses to disclose to me, so I set out a little earlier in hope that I might stumble across an answer.

The streets are bare. I am breaking the rules just by being out here. It is only midday but ever since Alec's recon group discovered that the government might be planning an airstrike, we have been ordered to remain indoors and in close proximity to each other.

When I bought this up with Hope, she had laughed at me. "If they're planning to blow us us to the heavens, who do you think they're gonna aim at? The large group of people all huddled together, or little old you walking the streets alone?"

After ensuring that she would take the blame if I were to be discovered breaking command, I promised to meet her by noon.

There is heckling outside, shouts of 'mutant scum' and 'kill all trannies.' I still don't know why they want us dead so much. Max's official line is that they fear that which they don't understand, though Sizzle believes that they simply fear that which is a helluva lot more powerful than them.

If only they could see me.

**********************************************************

I have to go through at least four different security procedures before I am allowed into base. After I am done listing my series, rank and designation, I am ushered in and told to behave.

Max is huddled over a table. Around her are her siblings, the infamous 09'ers. I recognise Jondy, of course and at least three more look familiar to me, then I remember them laughing as I tripped over. It is hard to bite back my scowl.

Nobody looks up at me. I spot Hope sprawled across a battered old couch. Her feet are thrown over the arm and she's laughing at something that has just happened on the crackly TV. She smiles as she glances my way and beckons me over. I perch on the other arm of the sofa. A trio of pink, unidentifiable creatures bounce around on screen singing high pitched songs about love and acceptance.

"2015 wasn't a good year for kids TV. They went from urging tolerance and harmony to practically demanding it. Caused a big fuss, can you believe it? Parents didn't want their kids _brainwashed_ with messages about how to actually be a decent human being." She rolls her eyes. "Me? I just like the songs."

"There's no TV in the rec room," I say, my voice dull and muted. Hope smiles and me and nods to the group still discussing tactics.

"Careful," she whispers. "We're on the other side now. See how the higher ups live?"

The TV freezes momentarily reducing the screen to static. When transmission returns, the happy songs have been replaced by demands that we be strung up and slaughtered, _like the animals we are. _For the first time, I feel angry at them.

Hope is staring at the screen with something approaching admiration. She notices my questioning glance and smiles. "Trish Wakely," she says, nodding at a carefully presented news reporter. Her flaming red hair is coiffed and she is wearing more make up than is perhaps necessary to her job.

"Any chance of you getting off your ass and doing some work?" A blond man shouts over. He is tall and well built and I blush slightly as his eyes flicker from Hope to me. Hope rolls her eyes and settles back onto the couch.

"About as much chance as you getting a sense of humour, Zack."

He shakes his head and grumbles something about her laziness. I notice Jondy give her a glare before she returns to her maps and plans. Hope seems unfazed by their annoyance. She leans forward and gestures to the screen again. "She's out there, day and night, yet there's never a hair out of place. That's a woman who knows how to present herself. Look at her jacket, I bet you a thousand dollars that it's Miki Ishigaru."

"Who is Miki Ishagaru?" I ask. Hope groans and flops back into her seat with an air of over dramatised tragedy.

"She's only the best fashion designer of the 21st century. People thought it was always going to be Chanel, y'know. Then Miki comes along and completely revolutionises the fashion industry. Miki designed for everybody. Short, tall, skinny, big, plus she didn't use fur or leather, which is always pretty cool. She broke _all _the rules. "

I obviously wasn't impressed enough, because she throws a booted ankle on to my lap, plain black with a smattering of brilliant white flowers decorating them. I smile, still not getting it. Fashion doesn't really exist in my world. Only practicality is important.

Hope grins at me, almost beckoning me to break out into a round of applause or a fit of glee. I do neither and she takes this as a sign that I need a little more urging. "I got these from a boutique in Tokyo. Cost me twelve thousand American dollars. They're vintage Miki."

The others are watching us now, unrestrained disgust showing on their faces. Zack opens his mouth to speak and I know nothing good will come of it. Hope despises Zack for reasons I don't know, and the feeling seems entirely mutual.

"You tell her what you did to pay for those boots?" He asks, his lip curling. The barb hits it's mark. I can see it in the flash of anger that passes behind Hope's eyes but it disappears almost instantly and she purses her lips and gives a nonchalant shrug.

"How I make my money is nobody's business but my own. When you're a little girl, all alone in the big bad world, you have to use your imagination in order to survive. You should know that by now, _big brother." _She spits the last words and now it is Zack's turn to look angry, though behind his bright blue gaze, I think I see a flicker of---remorse, perhaps guilt.

Max, who had been watching the exchange with a wary eye, stands up and puts a hand on Zack's shoulder. She looks over at me. "We're all just tired,"she explains with a weary sigh. "It makes us snappy after a while."

"Whatever," Hope snorts. She jumps to her feet and grabs me under the elbow. The others watch as we leave.

***********************************************************


	9. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** This work is based on James Cameron's Dark Angel. The characters that you recognise from the show do not belong to me and I am not making any money off this fic.

Chapter Eight

Hope isn't around when I stop by Distopia a few days later. Sizzle greets me with a grunt and I marvel at just how fearsome he looks. He is a small set---uh, man with more than an aura of wisdom around him. He seems old, and he could well be. Manticore's experiments didn't begin with near perfect results.

It's his features that scare and fascinate me most. Out of all the nomlies I have seen, he is perhaps one of the closest visual examples of their mixed DNA. His nose is slightly elongated, resembling a snout and his skin is a green and cream blend of skin and scales.

"If you're looking for Hope, she's not well today," he grumbles, his voice gruff and raw. His words sound a little practised and I wonder if Hope has told him to tell me that she is unavailable today.

"She's sick?" I ask, with some surprise. We are immune to most, if not all, human diseases. His mouth opens in a grimace and I notice that both rows of white teeth are sharp and pointed. Probably sharp enough to tear through human flesh. I can't help the shudder that runs through me.

"No," he adds with a bitter laugh and with one last glare of reptilian eyes, he turns his back on me and stalks away.

****************************************************************

Hope's room is nestled amongst a maze of corridors on the top floor. The entire floor is bright and unassuming, an almost carbon copy of the two below it.

After my tentative knock fails to get a response, I debate leaving but before I can make a decision, the door opens.

Hope certainly isn't well. That is visible enough from her pale skin and tired eyes, though it is her general appearance that tips me off the most. Gone is the colourful, high fashion clothing and expertly styled hair. In place are faded leggings and a worn oversized jumper. Her colour bleached hair is scraped back off her face in a tight ponytail. And her face is bare---free of the elaborate make up I have come to regard as simply a part of her.

For the first time, faced with the realisation that Hope actually has to make an effort to look the way she does, I wonder of the reasoning behind it.

"I'm not feeling too good today." she says. Her voice is raw, huskier than usual and the accent is drawled, as though she hasn't the energy to regard the proper pronunciation. She pulls back the door slightly. "But you can come in if you want."

As I pass, I notice a slight trembling in her hand. She closes her eyes and breathes a hiss as a small shudder rips through her. It takes a few minutes for the dots to connect then I remember...

"You have the shakes."

A bitter laugh. "Yeah. A side effect of my not so perfect DNA. Hurts like a bitch and leaves me in one hell of a mood."

"I wouldn't know." Manticore had repaired that design flaw by the time my series was put into production.

She shrugs and smiles but her brilliant blue gaze remains unfocused and dark. "The worst is over."

We are silent for a moment as she clears a space for me to sit down. Hope's room isn't really what I expected but in a way, it makes sense. Organised clutter breaks through the distillation and neatness that even years on the outside haven't erased but everything seems to be in place, exactly where it belongs.

Every surface---mainly constructed from overturned boxes and broken chairs—is strewn with disassembled guns, glinting knives and other contraptions that I can't make sense of. "Are these all yours?" I ask, as I study what appears to be an Uzi.

Hope laughs a little and takes it from my hand. She puts it back where it belongs. "No. They belong to people here. They pay me to modify them."

"Modify?"

"Yeah, you know—make them better." Her sarcasm is biting but there is a smile on her face so it doesn't effect me too much.

"Aren't they good enough as they are?"

She wedges a book under the leg of a lopsided chair and gestures for me to sit. "Not in most parts of the world. Most of the weapons in this room were imported before the pulse, back when America could actually afford them---but the world has moved on since then." She picks up a Sig Sauer hand pistol. "These weapons are old and dated. Like everything else in this country." she adds as an afterthought.

"How do you know how to modify them?" I ask and to my surprise, she smiles as me and leans against a dirty table. I might possibly get an answer.

"I ended up in Japan a few years after the escape. Tokyo was one of the leading cities in technological development even before the pulse. Now they're on the cutting edge of everything from cars to guns to cellphones."

"How did you end up in Japan?" I ask.

Hope smiles as though I am an X8 asking why the sky is blue. "That's a whole other story," she says and I read between the lines. I should be grateful for the bit I got and I really am.

She hands me a soft bundle of colourful, knitted blankets. "Here, I made these for you." The blankets feel soft and downy against my skin and I don't bother to resist the urge to rub my face on them. The wool is perfect blend of purples, pinks and creams.

"You made them?" I ask. I wonder for a moment if Hope will be insulted by the shock in my voice but, after another slight shudder, she shrugs and smiles.

"I learned all that stuff when I was pretty young, even before the cars and the guns and all that shit. I've been making some stuff for the babies here. Persephone,----you met her the other day remember?"

I nod, remembering the tall, dark haired X4 with the soft spoken voice. Hope continues. "Well, she looks after the babies with no parents. The X9's, X8's and the ones that have been given up."

"Given up?" I whisper.

"Yeah, the unwanted breeding program babies." She notes the shock on my face and her expression softens. "At the root of things, we're designed to be selfish, or self absorbed at least. Makes it easier to survive if you only have to worry about yourself and your unit. Conditioning like that is hard to break, even out here. And not everyone is meant to be a mother."

I wonder who she is trying to convince. After a few moments of silence, she bites back the uncertainty in her voice. "Anyway, I learned to knit and sew when I was a kid so now I make things---blankets, little hats and jumpers for the kids. I can even make gloves too. Do you want some gloves?" she asks.

I think about it for a moment. Winter is coming and Seattle gets really cold---and maybe it would help me sleep better if I had some gloves. I nod and offer an awkward thank you but Hope just shrugs it off. I stay for a few more hours and we talk about everything except the things I most want to know.

Hope is as much of a mystery to me as ever. Just when I think I have one part of the puzzle figured out, I am presented with another piece. The realisation hit me that it hurts. Hope is the only friend I have out here and it hurts that she can't trust me with her secrets, especially since she is the first person I would tell if I had any. And it is particularly hurtful that even her brother, Zack, who is the only person that Hope actively despises, knows more than I do.

I leave with the weight of the world on my shoulders. It's so confusing on the outside.

************************************************************


	10. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** This work is based on James Cameron's Dark Angel. The characters that you recognise from the show do not belong to me and I am not making any money off this fic.

**A/N:** Sorry this update has taken so long. I haven't had a lot of spare time on my hands to write.

Chapter Nine

Hope and I are watching the sun breaking through the horizon. We've been sitting on the roof of Dystopia since she found me wandering through the streets, cursing another sleepless night. Apparently, I'm not the one who suffers from bouts of insomnia but according to Hope, hers are simply part of her genetics and have very little bearing on her ability to function properly.

I marvel at the beauty of the sunrise as I watch orange bleed into the sky. It's so beautiful that even the stone grey scene below us, that insists on spoiling the view, does little to mask its power. Hope smiles, resting back on her hands, as she keeps an unblinking gaze in front of her. I think I understand what true beauty is now. The sun is beautiful because it's so powerful. Hope is beautiful because she is also powerful.

My conclusion depresses me.

"I'm ugly," I mutter. My tone is matter of fact simply because I realised this a while ago. I've almost gotten used to my lot in life, you could say. Hope doesn't look at me, the smile still on her face. She doesn't seem surprised by my self assessment and I take this to mean that she agrees with me.

"You're not," she says, as though that should be the end of the matter but even though I can hear the sureness in her tone, I can't quite bring myself to believe it. The words are not are not strong enough to penetrate my own feelings of worthlessness. A part of me is glad. I have spent so long feeling bad about myself that I would hate to find out it was pointless.

Perhaps Hope notices the lack of conviction in my expression as I simply nod and lower my head because she grabs my chin. I cringe, just knowing that she will feel the tiny hairs that insist on sprouting, however much I will them not to. She turns my head until I have no choice but to look at her. "You're a young girl. You have your whole future ahead of you and you're open to discovering and exploring it. That's more beautiful than anything. You're not ugly, Beth. You just haven't been shown the little tricks that all of us ladies need to keep ourselves polished."

"I'm too short," I insist but Hope merely shrugs.

"So? Gives us an advantage in battle."

"And I have hair on my legs, on my face, under my arms—everywhere." I practically wail. I can feel sadness bubbling up in my stomach, threatening to spill over into tears and I try with all my might to force it down. I don't want Hope to see me cry. I know she will think I am weak.

She laughs and smoothes my hair. "Who gives a shit? All girls get hair."

"Even you?"

Another laugh. "Especially me. My donor must have been fucking Greek or something because I get it everywhere. Black as night and so goddam stubborn to get rid of it. And it's not just me. You should have seen Max three days ago. We had to send Alec on an emergency supply run to pick up some wax and razors."

She pulls up the leg of her trousers and grabs my hand. I can feel prickly hair under my fingers. Hope smiles and winks at me. "Don't tell anyone, but I'm a little behind on my routine."

She sighs as she notices my look of shock. "Perfection doesn't exist, Beth. At best it's an illusion."

Then we go back to watching the sun and thinking about Alec, braving sector police and the angry mob just the ladies of Terminal City can keep up appearences. It's enough to make me smile.

* * *

It is past midnight when I am awoken from a dream about chocolate. I discovered chocolate a few days ago, when Hope managed to sneak some truffles past sector police, the protesters, the news reporters, over four hundred hungry transgenics and Max herself.

I asked her why she bothered. She smiled and handed me a smooth glob of milky brown paste dusted with grated white chocolate. Within the first bite I got my answer.

The first thing I see is Hope's grinning face leaning over me. Becca mutters and lifts her head off the pillow, her mouth opening in a little gasp as she sees just who is responible for disturbing her.

"What's going on?" she asks, a note of uncertainty in her voice.I rack my brains for a lie that she will believe. Hope answers for me.

"Nothing. Tarran needs a hand in the infirmary. Max told me to get a few people together but I've filled the quota so you can just go back to sleep."

With a wink, she gestures to my camis, folded neatly beside my makeshift bed, and tells me that she'll wait in the hall. I pull my clothes on in a daze, half wondering what she could possibly want at this hour and half hoping she might make it quick so I can go back to sleep.

She is waiting outside as promised, foot propped against the wall, eyes focused on the ceiling. The tune she is humming softly to herself cuts of as she sees me and she gives me another bright smile as she beckons for me to walk with her.

I notice the rain on her jacket and the trail of muddy footsteps she leaves behind as she walks. "Have you been out?" I ask, my voice still rough with sleep.

She nods, excitedly. "Yeah, I went out to get some supplies. I only just got back."

"Maya, from the food distribution center, told me there were no supply runs scheduled for at least four days." I think of the flame haired X5 who never has a nice word for anyone and wonder if she might have lied to me.

Hope shakes her head. "It wasn't an official haul. They don't let me go on those, say I'm too reckless---like they'd know," she mutters bitterly before continuing. "I just went to pick up a few things. Personal items."

Then without giving me a chance to ask for an explanation, she grabs me by the hand and drags me away.

* * *

"Ow!"

"Stop fussing," Hope says with a giggle. She grabs another of my eyebrow hairs and pulls it from the root. Even with my superior tolerance to pain, I still wince.

I'm sitting on the floor in Hope's room, the products of her unofficial haul scattered around us. There is a strong smelling paste on my chin, guarenteed to disolve even the most stubborn of hairs with minimal redness, according to the box and my hair is coated in a thick unidentifiable mixture. Hope says it will make it glossy. I note the clump of my hair, scattered on the floor with some worry. While I have promised to trust Hope's creative vision, it hasn't escaped my attention that her tastes could be considered----extreme, to say the least.

She pulls back to look at me and seems unsatisfied by what she sees. "Y'now, my first foster mother was Italian---from actual Italy, not just Brooklyn," she says, biting her lip as she leans in closer to attack a particularly stubborn hair. "She wouldn't even let me go to school without being perfectly presented. 'Presentation is most important'," she quotes, with actual Italian inflection. "She would spend hours primping and preening both her and myself."

She sits back for a moment to assess her work and I see a proud gleam in her eyes. "There. All done." She brushes tiny hairs of her hands and raises her wrist to check the time. After clearing the paste of my chin, using water from her own supply, she hands me a cold cloth and advises me to drape it over my face while she rinses my hair into a rusty old bucket.

"It'll be red for a while but that'll soon go," she says as I try not to fall asleep. The feeling of her hands working through my hair is so relaxing that even the cold flannel is doing nothing to keep me awake. I ask what it's for.

"An old wives tale," she replies. "Gives your circulation a boost and makes your skin all pretty."

I'm so eager to see the results that I almost feel I could die, but it seems I'll have to wait a little longer. Hope wraps my hair in a towel, the cleanest she could scavange from the infirmary, and walks me back to my room. With parting advice to not keep it wrapped too tight or it won't dry, she pats me on the head and leaves.

I manage to sneak into my room without waking any of the others and lay down, prepared for another few hours of sleeplessness before I succumb. Then I remember how relaxed I felt as Hope washed the berry scented mixture out of my hair. I am asleep in seconds.


	11. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer:** This work is based on James Cameron's Dark Angel. The characters that you recognise from the show do not belong to me and I am not making any money off this fic.

**Chapter Ten**

"What is that on your head?"

I am woken by Becca standing over me. Her hands are on her hips and her piggy face is scrunched up in a grimace. I yawn and stretch, amazed that I appear to have had the best sleep since I arrived here.

"I asked you a question," Becca spits, still doing her best impression of an angry X5. I glance around the room to see the others watching me. "It's a towel," I mutter. "I washed my hair last night."

Lori's eyes are raking over my face and Trish looks both confused and disgusted. Only Olga seems uncomfortable at the tension in the room. I stand up to leave but Becca steps in front of me.

"Where did you get it?" she asks, her tone demanding and superior.

My heart pounds in my chest. I don't want to fight with her because I know I won't win. I feel my cheeks heat with humiliation and wish that I was still alseep, that this is all just a nasty dream. Things were supposed to be better for me today, I even slept well. Why do they have to ruin it?

"A friend gave it to me," I mumble, lowering my eyes in a gesture that I instinctively know as a submission. I pull the towel of my head, wearing it makes me feel stupid and I hold it out to Becca. "You can have it." I stutter. She looks as though I've just offered her a dead animal I found on the ground. Her lips curls in disgust and I push past her and break into a run, not stopping until I'm sure I'm not being followed.

When I find a safe place, I hide, but I don't cry.

* * *

I turn up late for my mentoring appointment with Hope. She's not there. I'm greeted by a note stuck to the door that instructs me to go to her room instead.

Her grin fades as she sees my expression. "You don't like the hair?" she asks, though her tone tells me that she believes she's not even close to what the problem really is.

"I like the hair," I say, forgetting for a moment that I haven't even seen it yet. I can tell by the weight of it that it's still long though a good few inches of split ends fell victim to Hope's creative expression. I know I'll like anyway. Hope delights in beautiful things and so I know it won't be anything less.

"Then what's up?" she asks, stretching her legs out in front of her and leaning back against the wall.

Sun shines far to brightly through the window. It rests on her twelve thousand dollar boots and turns the little white flowers, yellow. I feel angry because I still don't know how she paid for them. Even Zack knows and you would think that since she at least seemed to like me, that I would have more right to know than him.

"Why won't you tell me the truth?" I ask, not even bothering to hide the bitterness in my voice. Hope seems to know immediately what I am talking about. She sighs and for the first time since I've met her, she seems tired. She seems weary.

"I'm not trying to keep secrets from you, Beth," she says. If her words sound rehearsed it's because we've had this discussion too many times before. "I'm trying to keep you innocent for just a little while longer. You don't realise what a gift it is to not realise how fucked up this world is."

It's the same excuse she always uses but it still seems so unfair to me. She gives me a weighted stare, just daring me to attempt to carry on the conversation. I don't. Instead, I do what I always do and back down.

"Listen," she says and I wonder if she might carry on the converstation herself but she doesn't. "I might not be available for the next few days. I have something coming up, something that I can't get out of, so it's best if you don't come round here for a few days."

I nod. I think I've just ruined everything. I pushed her too far and now she's realised that I'm just an annoyance that she can do without.

She ducks her head so she can see my face, which is currently focused on the floor. "It's only for a few days," she says with a chuckle. "We can hang out afterwards."

After a few more moments of her trying to convince me that I haven't lost my only friend here and me trying not to cry, I leave feeling worse than I did before.

* * *

The next morning I have class and I think that only getting hit at every point on my body by a uzi spray shot would be less painful.

I've come to the conclusion that the real reason Shayna doesn't teach us anything is because she's so stupid she doesn't know anything. I hate her, I hate my classmates and I could cry for it. I sit through the whole class not listening to a word that comes out of Shayna's dumb mouth. I'm so hungry that my stomach hurts and rations aren't expected for another three days, if they come at all.

Hope's beauty tricks have done nothing to make me more accepted among my peers, so that makes Cosmopolitan a liar too. It's only near the end of a class when I have an idea. Hope wont tell me what I want to know but she's not the only one with the information I require. I allow myself a few seconds to appreciate my smarts and cunning but no more than that. Pride often comes before a fall, I've heard it said.

As soon as Shayna gives the order to leave, I put my plan into action.

* * *

Getting close to Max is like trying to assassinate the President. Both are near impossible. It's only when someone recognises me, from the last time I visited base to meet Hope, am I allowed through the doors that lead to the command center.

She looks up at me from the papers she is reading over, along with everyone else in the room. Zack is glowering as usual and Jondy just rolls her eyes and mutters something about security. Max looks at me expectantly.

"I've....Can I, uh, have a word...with you?" I stutter, stupidly. Max looks confused and then with a shrug, rises to her feet. She leads me into a tiny room decorated only by a broken table and three dirty chairs. I almost don't even want to sit on them.

"Why is Hope...," I pause and consider my words. There's no point getting answers to the wrong questions. I take a deep breath to curb my intimidation."When you all make hints about who Hope is and what she's done... I think I should know what you mean. She won't tell me, but I think I should know."

Max sighs and rubs at her eyes. She's very beautiful although her beauty is more exotic where Hope's is more doll like, and the tiredness in Max's face is more pronounced. I feel nervous. I really don't want her to yell at me because that would be very humiliating. "Look, it's really not my place to tell you things that Hope wants kept private."

She must notice my deflation because she explains further. "The truth is, most of us don't even know all the facts ourselves. Hope is very good at showing you only what she wants you to see."

I notice some affection and admiration in her voice that surprises me. Hope has never seemed particularly close to, or liked by, her siblings but Max is a leader and maybe it's her job to like everyone.

She leans back in her chair. "You two seem pretty close."

I nod. "She's my friend." That should explain everything, I think and it seems to because she doesn't explore any further. She bites her lip and I really wish she hadn't because that look of indecision is not something you ever want to see on the the face of your saviour.

Knowing that Max is all too human terrifies me.

I don't push for more information because I know Max won't give any. Whether she likes Hope or not, she's decided to remain loyal to her and now I'm back to square one. Before I leave, I request extra shifts in the infirmary because if I have to spend one more day listening to Shayna or thinking about Hope then I may suffer a severe mental breakdown.

Max puts me in for more than I expected. Apparently, one of the senior medics is otherwise engaged and won't be available for a while.

Maybe it's something in the water.

* * *

I wake up before dawn with a dull pain in my back. It takes everything I have just to lift my arm. I search my mental database for a list of ailments or diseases that fit my symptoms but find nothing. I decide to go down to the infirmary and get an assessment but as I stand, I feel a rush of heavy liquid between my legs. A quick check informs me that it is blood. I almost faint at the sight of it.

I follow my first instinct, which is to run and find Hope but I override it. She has expressly forbidden me to go near her place for a few days though a little part of me hopes that she will feel some remorse if I die and she wasn't there. I stick with my original plan and hurry to the infirmary.

The infirmary is not what you would expect from the name. It isn't bright and airy. It isn't even clean, although it's the cleanest area in Terminal City. From what I gather, it used to be an old function or meeting room but now, it is just a big, dark, stuffy space.

It's not especially packed today. Perhaps because there hasn't been a supply run in nearly a week and our superior psysiologies keep most illnesses and diseases at bay. There's an X6 holding a wet towel over a bloody nose and a pregnant X5 who looks close to bursting. Stuffed in the corner, on a makeshift gurney consisting of a broken table and and old curtain, is a nomlie. He complains to no one in particular about the lack of heat facilities and I dislike him almost immediately.

Yes, I know the lack of heat makes his type weary but it's not like it will kill him. He should be grateful that's he's better off than most here, where people are starving and wasting away. I mean, not all of us can catch flies with our tongue, and some of us don't want to, but it's important to keep your priorities in check and not overdramatise the situation.

"Beth?"

I heave a sigh of relief as I hear Merle's voice. I know my problem is serious and should be checked out but the specifics are still quite embarrassing. Although she intimidates me, Merle is someone I know and someone that Hope trusts completely. She puts her hand on my shoulder and leads me to a small, cramped room. Her long, snow white hair is pinned in a bundle to keep it out of the way while she works.

"I think I might have a severe illness, possibly a fatal one," I wail quietly. "I'm bleeding heavily."

Merle's gives me a once over. "Where?"

I am quite sure that my face is bright red. I know it is simply another body part, or it should be at least, but after reading an issue of Cosmopolitan and hearing about boyfriends, it seems like so much more. I feel ashamed for some reason I can't quite define. I look down, willing Merle to decode my silent message and not ask me any further questions.

To my surprise, she smiles and gives a little chuckle. "Come on," she says, taking me under the elbow. "Lets get you some fresh camis and we'll have a little talk."


	12. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: **This work is based on James Cameron's Dark Angel. The characters that you recognise from the show do not belong to me and I am not making any money off this fic.

**A/N:** A double post, to make up for my inactivity.

**Chapter Eleven**

"Any more questions?"

I shake my head. If I'm being honest, I'm still quite overwhelmed. According to Merle, I have just gotten my first period, and the heavy bleeding, awful pain and desire to cry and punch everyone in the face at the same time, is entirely normal.

Tragically, it will also happen again in 28 days. And then the next 28 days after that and so on until I am past child bearing age. Men don't have periods for this reason and that seems very unfair.

"I've had quite a few girls from your unit coming in here. Some X5's too, though they mainly come for pain relief." She crosses her long legs; a gesture so elegant I envy her for it. "Manticore dosed you all up with birth control meds that eliminated the need to educate you on your biology until you were ready for active missions." She must be quoting these words because she seems entirely unconvinced and unimpressed by them.

"Does it happen to all the women here; even the nomlies?" I ask.

Merle shakes her head. "No, not all of them. The X series are generally human so it goes without saying that their reproductive systems follow a human template, or that would have been the case if not for the design flaw in the X series." She stands and begins searching through the shelves behind her but carries on with her explanation. "It was discovered and fixed in all of them apart from the escapees and perhaps a few kept for experimentation purposes. It's expected that all of the X series will follow the human pattern bar the escapees and those like Persephone who can't bear children."

"She can't?" The tall, graceful X4 had always been nice to me whenever we spoke. I had even done some shifts in the creche with her. She seemed so happy around the children and it made me sad to know that she could never have any of her own.

Merle shook her head. "No. She was one of those that underwent experiments when they were trying to find a cure for the X5s heat cycles. Years of being poked and prodded would damage anyone's reproductive system."

"But why did they experiment on an X4 to fix an X5 ailment?" Many consider each unit a separate entity, an entirely new approach to genetic design. The idea that we are maybe all intertwined is one that has never been presented to me before. Merle must register my confusion because she gives me a smile.

"First, you have to understand how it all works, Beth. It took hundreds, maybe even thousands of brilliant minds to design transgenics like us. Their first experiment was the X1s but the only superior skill they had was a photographic memory and instant recall."

This is all so interesting to me. I never even knew there were any X1s before. I would have thought that nomlies would count as that series. "What happened to them?"

Merle shrugs. "The X1's were likely soldiers who were dosed with experimental meds. Manticore started out as a small company trying to make soldiers better until they went further underground and tried to make better soldiers instead. Chances are that they were the original template for the rest of us. They probably extracted what they needed to in terms of research and then disposed of them or let them go back to where they came from.

I shake my head. "I can't just see them letting them go. Look what they did when the 09'ers tried to escape, they hunted them down."

Merle nods but doesn't seem convinced by my logic. "Manticore didn't start off as this big covert company. The X1s were probably loaned to them by government sectors or private companies. It's actually more feasible that they didn't kill them. They would have had a lot of questions to answer and a lot of pissed off clients."

We are interupted by a young blonde girl from my series. She is extremely pretty, even prettier than Lori. Her voice is high and smooth. "Merle, is it okay if I clock off now? I want to surprise Eros with dinner."

"What are you planning?" Merle asks, a smirk on her face. She seems so removed from the awful story she has just been telling me though her natural sense of authority is still evident in every word and glance she gives the girl.

"A half jar of pickles with stale crackers and a chunk of oatmeal energy bar each," she says, adding a self mocking flair to her words. She knows as well as the rest of us how the actual contents of her dinner do very little to add to the sense of occasion.

"Go, and be careful. I don't want to see you back here in nine months time unless it's for a shift."

The girl's blush shows easily through her pale skin but she smiles at Merle and rushes out. "I swear those two would find romance in a sea of dead bodies. He helped her out of the fire and they've been inseperable ever since. Her name is Amber," she says, in answer to a question I never thought of asking. I'm still getting used to my own name.

She stops and shuffles some papers around, checks and signs some boxes and then mutters, "Where was I? Oh, yes,"

She leans back. "The X2's were the first sign of success. They were stronger, faster and smarter. The problem was in their conditioning. It was extreme, even by Manticore's standards. They ended up breeding a series of violent sociopaths and narcissists. They had revised the training scheme by the time the X3s and 4s were put into production but it wasn't until the X5s that they started to see the results they wanted."

"How do you know all this?" I ask, hoping that I don't offend her. Merle seems so wise and clever but she did spend most of her Manticore years stuck in a basement.

One shoulder rises in an elegant shrug. I resolve to start shrugging with one shoulder instead of my usual two because it makes Merle looks so aloof and nonchalent that it just speaks of confidence. "The guards and nurses talked and Lydecker filled us in on the rest when he came here."

"So, it's true. He really is here?" I had heard whispers but hadn't believed them for a second. My worry is evident but Merle doesn't seem to share it.

"Max needs all the help she can get and who better than the man who knows exactly what we are capable of?"

I suppose that makes sense but I wonder why Hope didn't tell me before. In fact, she downright laughed at me when I suggested it to her. I ask Merle. She doesn't know exactly but she guesses. "Hope thinks it's the smartest decision Max has made yet but she probably didn't want to scare you."

What scares me more is that she keeps so many secrets from me but I don't tell Merle this. Instead, I take the supply of female products she hands me and say my goodbyes.

* * *

I am overcome with anger on my walk home. All it seems to be with Hope is lies, lies lies. One after the other and what makes it worse is knowing that even if I confront her, she will find some way to wrangle out of it.

I've never been so furious and hurt in my entire life. Not even when I fell on a mission scenario because my pack was weighing me down and Commander Wallace made me run laps for three hours as punishment.

I pass Becca, Trish and Lori as I march towards Distopia. Becca opens her mouth to say something and I turn and fix her with the kind of glare that I have seen Hope giving Zack. "Shut up," I snap and her mouth drops open in shock. I hope she swallows a bug. She deserves it. Then I break into a run before I can lose my nerve. I don't care if Hope has told me to stay away from her room for a few days and I don't care that there is still one day left. How can she ask me to keep promises when all she does is lie to me?

I storm past Sizzle, he moves to say something then snaps his mouth shut and shrugs. In the distance, I hear Persephone shout a warning to me but I don't listen. I'm tired of listening and doing as I'm told without being given any reason as to why I should.

"Hope!" I yell, hammering on her door for good effect. I hear a grumble from inside and the shuffle of feet. I stand back, arms folded, my mouth set as the door opens.

I stop before I launch into my angry speech, that I have been rehearsing on the way over, because I don't recognise the man standing in front of me.


	13. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:** This work is based on James Cameron's Dark Angel. The characters that you recognise from the show do not belong to me and I am not making any money off this fic.

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

He is tall, almost as tall as Max's nomlie friend, Joshua. If I'm honest, his body is very appealing. He has broad shoulders and slim hips, giving him both a strength and speed advantage. He is built like an ideal soldier though his expression belies this fact. His eyes, a very rich green, are too open, too emotional. I can see his thoughts playing across his face and that is never good. It pays to be mysterious, at least in battle.

He frowns. "Uh, do you want something?" Then he gives a confused smile and I get a flicker of recognition. Perhaps I have seen him before. His cheeks are slighty flushed and his gaze on me is dull and unfocused.

I lose my nerve. He's an X5 and he outranks me. "I....Hope. I came to talk to Hope."

He winces slightly at the name but if I wasn't studying his every gesture, I wouldn't have caught it. He swallows hard and gives a tight, close lipped smile. "Right. She's...unavailable at the moment."

I try to peer past him. "Oh. Well, is she here because it will only take a second."

He runs a hand through his brown hair. It is spiky and messy, some parts plastered to his face with sweat. I see his biceps flex with the movement and all of a sudden, he scares me again. X5 males are notoriously strong. So are the females come to think of it. "No, she's not here. She went to get some food."

"Oh," I say, stupidly and then for reasons unknown to myself, I just stand there. I've worked myself up so much that it would feel like a failure to turn back now.

The X5 regards me for a moment, drumming his fingers on the door frame. This is a very awkward moment. He lets out a breath and gestures to the room behind him. "Do you, I dunno, wanna wait or something?"

Do I? I think for a moment then nod. He is still looking at me as though I may be a very particular brand of idiot.

The air in the room is heavy with a thick, cloying scent that I can't place. Hope's organised mess is now organised chaos. Many of her guns and knives are on the floor, tipped boxes and chairs laying next to them. The patch of blankets that she uses for a bed are ripped and strewn across that area. I notice a tear in the X5's shirt as he uprights a chair for me to sit on.

"Thank you," I mutter and he seems a little surprised. One of the first things Hope taught me was the importance of manners, probably because more people are willing to help you if she show gratitude and humility. I have to admit, it seems like a very smart tactic because the X5's expression softens and he gives me a slight smile.

And that is where I know him from. He was there that day I fell. The only one of Max's siblings who didn't laugh at me for it. He grabs another chair for himself and sits down, leaning forward on his elbows. "So.....," he starts. I don't know what to say so I just nod. This whole thing seems very stupid.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come here, Hope told me not to come here, but I really needed to talk to her and.....," And what? I could tell him all about how I got my first period but I don't think he would appreciate that too much. According to Merle, men can be very squeemish about such things.I could tell him that I came here to yell at Hope for keeping secrets from me but if he is her friend, then that might not be such a smart move. He might feel bound to defend her and I could die.

"So....you're the girl that Hope is mentoring, right?" He is struggling to find conversation. Even I can see that. It's a shame I have no idea of how to help him with it.

He leans over and reaches out a large hand. "I'm Zane."

I stare at his hand for a moment before taking it. His skin is warm to the touch and my hand almost disappears beneath his. "My name is Beth," I say. It still sounds a little awkward to me. "You're Hope's, one of Hope's brothers."

His grips clenches around mine painfully. "No," he snaps and I can't help but flinch slightly at the anger in his voice. His hand falls away and he looks almost sheepish. "I mean.....Sorry," he mutters and I nod to show him that I accept his apology.

He sighs deep and leans back into the chair, running his hands through his hair. "Did Hope tell you why you shouldn't come here?" He asks. There is a catch of tension in his voice, and a note of longing as he says Hope's name. At least, I think that's what it is, but I have little to compare it to. It sounds very similar to when Shayna is talking about Kearn and how they have very special plans or something, except Zane doesn't wiggle his eyebrows and grin, so maybe it is different after all.

"No, she just told me she would be busy for a few days and that I shouldn't come over here."

"But you did," and now he is grinning, almost teasing me. It scares me because I know I broke the rules and suddenly, I don't feel so brave when I think about Hope finding out. What if she is disappointed in me and decides that I'm an idiot who can't follow orders?

Zane's expression shifts and he seems...nervous. "Did she ever tell you about...you know, when she goes into heat....what happens?" He doesn't seem able to look at me and I find that curious. X5's are confident and eternally sure of themselves.

I ponder his question. I know about heat of course. I know that only the 09'ers are still afflicted by it because it was fixed in all the remaining soldiers. I know that it is a genetic design flaw that exists only for unecessary reproductive purposes and I know that it involves sex of some sort, though I have very little knowledge of what exactly that entails. According to Cosmo, it is when a man tries to find your G spot, whatever that is, in order to make a baby.

My eyes scan the room as I try to compose an answer. They land on a pair of boots; large, army issue boots, tossed haphazardly against the far wall, and I make the connection. I'm quite sure I am blushing. "Oh," is all that I manage to mumble.

Zane sighs and rubs his eyes. "Hope will be here in a minute. I don't think she's going to be too happy about this."

I stand up quicker than I ever have done in my life. I thank Zane for inviting me in, cheeks still burning and I hurry out so quickly that I forget to open the door. A strong arm reaches past my face for the handle and I don't even look back as I practically run from the room.

I don't know what to feel about this new development. Hope has never so much as looked at any of the males in Terminal City, in fact, she seems to dislike quite a few of them. And of all the virile male specimens here, I can't help but wonder why she chose one of her....uh, ex unit members to be in heat with.

I'm really beginning to hate being on the outside. Just when I think I'm starting to figure things out, something even more confusin crops up. And I'm still angry at Hope, but now I won't be able to do anything about it because everytime I look at her, I will see dazed green eyes and strong biceps holding her.

It's not fair and I wonder how she would like it if I got a boyfriend. I'm sure she wouldn't be too impressed then.

* * *

I go and annoy Sizzle. Unintentionally of course but then, no one can really do much of anything without annoying Sizzle. Hope calls him 'grumpy' and I've not seen anything that makes me want to argue the fact.

He sets me to work sketching plans and drawing maps. When I ask what they're for, he tells me that they're part of a job, for 'outside people'. I get the feeling that he's lying but since his teeth are as sharp as his tongue, I don't question him on it.

"Sizzle," I start, cautiously. I'm quite sure that he won't kill me simply for offending him but I'm only 96% certain so I don't want to push my luck. "Do you think Hope keeps a lot of secrets?"

"Yes," he says simply.

Sizzle is very blunt. It is something Hope and Merle both admire and despise in him. Apparently, not many women like being told that their footwear looks like roadkill. He pores over plans, his eyes flickering wildly and just when I think the conversation is over, he speaks again. "Some secrets are better kept," he says, with wisdom that seems impossible considering most of his life has been spent locked in a basement. He shrugs. "And some people are best not knowing."

"Do you know?" I ask him. He turns to look at me, yellow eyes glinting. His face is blank of any emotion.

"Yes," he says simply.

All of a sudden, I understand where Merle and Hope are coming from.


	14. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer:** This work is based on James Cameron's Dark Angel. The characters that you recognise from the show do not belong to me and I am not making any money off this fic.

**A/N: **I need a little advice. At the moment, this fic is currently rated T (teen) but I'm torn between deciding whether it warrants an M (mature) rating. If you could just state in a review whether you feel it's rated correctly or whether it would be better for me to put it up I would really appreciate it. Thank you in advance.

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

Hope keeps her word and by the fourth day of her self imposed exile, she tracks me down. Part of me wants to turn the other way as I see her slinking towards me. Maybe she likes me so much because I'm the only person shorter than she is. Well, besides the children of course. She gives me a wide grin but I notice a hint of uncertainty. She seems half worried and half ashamed.

"Hey," she says brightly but her gaze doesn't quite meet mine. "Free for a walk?"

I nod and she links her arm under my elbow though her grasp is a little lighter than usual. After a few steps, I notice that she is walking heavy on her left foot. I wonder if she has injured herself.

She finds us a quiet place. Perhaps it is so quiet because it is home to a nest of rats and smells of decomposing animals but it is away from prying eyes—and ears--- and I know that Hope would say that privacy is more important than comfort.

"Zane told me you came round," she starts, her eyes still on the floor. There is no trace of anger in her voice and I wonder if she is trying to reel me in, make me confess before she blows her top on me. That is how Shayna describes her 'meetings' with Max and I think it is appropriate here. Besides, I know for a fact that Hope isn't beyond such tactics. In fact, she positively delights in them.

"I bet that was a little awkward," she says with a little chuckle. A nervous little chuckle and I wonder what she has to be so worried about. She is an adult and it's up to her what she does, even if I can't fathom why she would do it.

"Yes," I say simply. Maybe my afternoon with Sizzle is paying off because I sound almost blunt and nonchalant. Hope swallows hard.

"The thing about heat is.....well, you don't really get a choice in it. It just happens and then next thing you know, you're grabbing the first guy you see."

"That sounds horrible," I say without any real emotion behind it. It's hard for me to gage why Hope feels so bad because according to Cosmo and Shayna, it's actually a very pleasurable experience.

Hope seems to understand and she give me an attempt at a smile that doesn't quite make it. She shrugs, slower than usual and I notice a faint shadow underneath her eye. The make up distracts from it but the bruise is still slightly evident. "I dunno, I just....it would be nice to be able to choose, I suppose."

I enhance my vision and I can see tiny marks and bruises dotted across her skin. She's done her best to cover them with fancy designs and symbols but the make up is no match for my superior sight. "What happened?" I whisper, slightly horrified. Cosmo made no mention of this particular side effect.

Hope laugh, her loudest today, and shrugs once more. "Animal instinct, I guess. It can get a little rough. Don't worry about it. It always fades."

I hate Zane. I don't care how many times he smiles at me, I absolutely hate him. Hope seems to note this because tilts her head and smiles. "Don't blame him, Beth. Neither of us had a choice in the matter and he didn't get off too lightly either."

"I don't understand," I say, in my first moment of complete honesty today. "I don't understand any of it. Everyone around here is so concerned with not having enough food or water and yet all they ever do is try to make more babies. It's stupid."

Hope laughs again and I narrow my eyes. I feel like she's mocking me and it makes me angry. She nudges my shoulder until I look at her. "It's not about making babies, Beth. Not always."

"Then what? What is about?" I'm almost yelling but Hope is still smiling at me. She shrugs again.

"I dunno. People do it because it's fun. They enjoy it. It feels good. Or if you're cursed like me, you don't get a say in it. Pick one."

"I want you to tell me what it's like. What happens?"

She opens her mouth to protest but I cut her off. "Don't tell me that it's a secret. Or that I'm too young to know. I'm so tired of no one telling me anything. How am I supposed to learn if I don't know anything?" Now I am definitely yelling, though it must work in my favour because Hope regards me for a moment then nods. She settles down and sighs then she proceeds to give me a basic, but rather graphic, play by play of her few nights with Zane.

After only a few lines of description, I begin to wish I'd never asked.

* * *

I skip class the next day and decide to hang out in Distopia. (I've been paying attention to the slang and lingo and trying to incorporate it into my daily converstations. It still feels a little strange)

From the moment I step into the lobby, I can hear voices. I follow the noise and end up in one of the offices on the ground floor. It is a wide empty space, furnished with nothing more than a filing cabinet and a large conference table. There is a generous amount of light, however, that makes it look larger than it probably is.

Everybody is there. Maine greets me. "Hello, Beth. We were just about to send Amber over to get you." Maine's voice is sweet and soft. She speaks slightly above a whisper and there is a certain aura of calm around her that never falters. She can't see me of course, but she can track through scent or sound better than anyone in TC.

Amber smiles at me and gives a little wave. Her strawberry blonde hair is loose around her shoulders and out of the infirmary, she looks fresh and young. There is a light dusting of freckles across her nose and a X6 male standing beside her. Any blonder and his hair would be as light as Merle's. The planes of his face are sharp but any harshness is offset by the brightness of his light blue eyes. He looks happy. "This is Eros," Amber says, and the name sparks a memory. Eros is the X6 who saved Amber from the fire. They've been inseperable ever since. He gives me a warm smile and I return it.

Hope doesn't look up from her papers but she tells me to grab a chair. There are none spare but Persephone stands and insists I take hers. "What's happening?" I ask her. She smiles down at me and for a moment, I envy all X9's who are going to grow up with her as a mother.

"The months and months of hard work are finally paying off. The big plan is coming together."

I smile back at her, though her answer really wasn't helpful at all. It seems Hope isn't the only one who excels in being cryptic.

Hope and Sizzle are muttering, heads bent over the table. Merle interjects every now and then. I look over at Amber to see if I'm the only one in the dark. She shrugs and that makes me feel a little better. I don't think I could bear it if she knew more than I did.

Hope sighs and pushes away from the table. "Okay, you finish up here, Sizzle. I'm going to take Beth, Amber and Eros for a walk. Come on," she says, gesturing to me with a nod. She gives me a tense smile and I know what it means. She's going to do something questionable and has no idea of the outcome.

The three of us follow her. Against my better judgement, I nudge Amber and ask if she knows what's going on. She's so pretty that I half expect her to snarl at me and push me away. Instead, she leans closer and whispers. "No, not really. Merle and I were just talking lately about how tough things are getting here and how nothing seems to be changing and she told me to come here."

Hope turns back to us with a smile. We've stopped suddenly and we appear to be facing a wall. "Okay, here we are. Remember to breathe through your mouths and don't puke on my shoes."

I stare at the wall as Hope leans into it. It opens, revealing a dark hall. When my night vision kicks in, I can see that the hall is actually a staircase, leading down into what appears to be nothing more than darkness. I know what this is.

Answers. Or at least some of them.


	15. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: **Characters belong to their rightful owners. I am making no profit off this story.

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen**

The door opens to a long, dark flight of stairs that seem never-ending as we walk deeper and deeper into the darkness. Amber huddles next to Eros. He isn't much taller than her but she looks up at him as though he is capable of fighting anything that may come our way. He smiles down at her and for a moment, I wonder what that must feel like.

"The complex is built deep underground," Hope tells us. "It's well protected from air and gas attacks. This is the only known entrance and even that's off the books." She gestures to a long dark corridor which takes on a green tinge as my night vision kicks in. At the end of the hall is a steel door. There is a fingerprint scanner and an ID card slot but the lack of electricity means we bypass both with just a push of the door.

The space inside is large and ceiling is so high that even five Joshua's stacked on top of each other couldn't reach it. It's a modern industrial style that makes you feel like you're inside a tin can. I begin to feel a little light-headed as I realise just how deep underground we must be.

A large circular lobby desk sits in the centre of the room, still scattered with pens and papers. Hope drops into the seat behind it and back straight, she begins chattering in forced, clipped tones, as she shuffles a bundle of papers. "Welcome to The Lotus Group Research Base," she says. "We specialise in covert experimentation-chemical and viral weaponry, biological research, all that kind of lovely stuff...or at least we did until we all died."

Only Eros laughs. Hope winks at him and rolls her eyes at Amber and I. "Find fun in the absurd," she advises us. "It's the only way any of us can survive this shithole."

I get the feeling she's not just talking about this place, or Terminal City for that matter.

Directly behind the desk is the only other door besides the one we came through. It is when we open that door that we realise the true scope of what must have happened down here. The smell has Amber, Eros and I gagging and covering our faces. Hope grimaces a little.

"Breathe through your mouths and keep your noses covered. It's not much but it helps."

We follow her direction gladly. I need a few moments to recover before I even begin to assess the view around me. We are in another long corridor, decorated with doors along either side. A few feet ahead is a set of stairs and an escalator, both leading downward. It's so much bigger than my imagination could have accounted for. It scares me a little to think that there is even deeper to go.

"It only gets worse from here," Hope says with a beaming grin.

She isn't wrong. There is a mass of dusted flesh sprawled across the elevator, clinging on to old, dead bones. We decide to take the stairs. Amber is looking around the space, dumbfounded and confused. Her forearm is still covering her nose."What is this?"

"Are they bones?" Eros asks, his voice catching in a gag.

It feels good for me to know something first for a change. I can still remember Hope telling me of the slaughter that happened down here.

She grins. "Lets just say that their security wasn't up to snuff."

"So what are we doing down here?"

"Well, that is the question, Beth. Wait and see."

Then we are off again, through a series of sterilised hallways that remind me of Manticore. I try to map the topography in my mind and what I come up with is overwhelming. The space is huge, covering a mass large enough to fit every member of Terminal City in...twice. There are a least three levels.

The deeper we go, the worse the smell gets...and the scenery. Most of the bodies are little more than dust and scraps of skin, hanging off skeleton bones but the closed space environment has kept a number of the corpses fresh enough to turn even the strongest of stomachs. It seems we can't turn a corner without stumbling over a pile of rotting flesh.

"Oh my god," Amber yells. For a moment, I wonder if she's been attacked and the thought sends my already fragile nerves sky high. She is clinging to Eros, eyes wide as she sees exactly what she tripped over.

It's not human, not even a bloody mass of human. It's not even close. A naked hunch backed ball of flesh lies at Amber's feet. Over sized eyes, unusually placed at the side of its head, stare up at us blankly. Long canines protrude out of a twisted and deformed mouth.

Hope shrugs and grasps my hand. "Best not to over think it," she says before dragging us away. A clear case of easier said than done.

Eventually, we arrive at series of abandoned labs, located deep in the lower levels. There are more of these...things scattered around the floor like fallen leaves. Amber and I take random opportunities to vomit. Eros pales but manages to keep his lunch in his stomach.

"Here we are," Hope says, happily. She flicks a switch and light floods the room, snapping on with a quick, flickering buzz. Hope notices our questioning glances and gives us a grin.

"Sizzle tapped into the city's power grid," she explains. "It runs through a separate section of the complex. He's in the process of rewiring and re-routing the electrics to the vital areas."

"That's one hell of a job," Eros says.

Hope gives him a wink. "Sizzle's one hell of a technician...and let's just say that we have a few friendly faces on the outside."

"What are you doing, Hope, and what do you mean 'vital areas'?

Hope dashes across the room and dusts off a filing cabinet. The specks hang in the air a moment before settling on her skin. "We're going to turn this into an infirmary. A real, fully stocked infirmary. Merle's going to run it."

She glances around the room, eyes bright as she explains further. "Some of us aren't happy with the way things are being run. The lack of equipment, defence, contingency plans. If we were attacked, which is long overdue to be honest, we wouldn't stand a chance. Everything would fall. There isn't enough muscle as it is. We just can't afford to lose any more."

She runs her finger along a bloodied conference table. "Max is...good enough at what she does but she's never been one to see the big picture. She lives in the here and now. We're trying to think long term. Prepare for a massive hit."

Her arms fold across her chest as she rests her weight on the table behind her. "Imagine...a fully stocked infirmary with operating rooms, recovery bays, proper surgical theatres, maybe even a med school. Yeah, we probably won't be able to save everybody but at least we'd have a chance at keeping our numbers up. "

There is no flicker of doubt in Hope's voice that this grandiose plan of hers might not succeed. She is fearless as she describes an idea that seems so far away from anything we can imagine achieving here and I realise what it is that makes her different from her siblings. From the others here.

She's used to getting her own way.

So much so that even in such a bad situation, she can't just settle and get on with it. Instead, she has to mould and shape the wreckage until it becomes something she can use. Whether it's knitting blankets or wearing designer boots while she should be rotting with the rest of us. This is happening simply because she doesn't understand what it is to fail.

What is it that makes her reach for the stars while the rest of us don't even think of looking past the sky?

I don't whether the answer bothers me or not, or why it comes as such a surprise, but the full extent of her ego is still a shock to me.

"Of course, it's not going to be ready for a good few months at least." Hope says, breaking my thoughts with a sigh. "Even with as skilled as we are. And we're gonna need quite a few hands to help with the labour."

"And then what? What about when all this is over and we leave? All our hard work would have gone to waste."

Hope shrugs at Amber's question. "Some of us don't want to leave."

The question is evident on the others faces but I am the one who voices it. "What?" Who would want to stay here; in this barren, toxic land?

Hope throws her hands up as though she can't quite believe the question. "Look around you. Terminal City is the perfect base for us. Big, pre built buildings. A solid defensive perimeter courtesy of the government. Where else would we go?"

"Anywhere," I say. "Anywhere but here. Max-,"

"Max?" Hope spits the word at me. "You're taking survival advice from Max now?"

The venom in her voice cuts me to the bone and I'm afraid to speak. She's never spoken to me like this before. She's never looked at me with that angry, twisted expression that she reserves for people like Zack and Jondy. "Let me tell you something about Max," She stands and dusts herself off. "She's a fucking idiot."

Amber and Eros watch the exchange with wide eyes. Hope doesn't even regard them.

"Max is optimistic. She's so optimistic that it's turned her stupid. Max believes that people are good at heart. Max believes that we can all live in peace. Max thinks that her pretty face and misplaced compassion can make them see the error of their ways and because of that, Max doesn't plan past tomorrow."

"I-," It's a sentence I can't finish because I don't know what to say. Max is all of those things but she's our leader. If we can't trust our leader then how will we ever be able to present a united front?

Hope levels me with a stare that turns me cold. "And if by some holy chance she's right, what then? It's easy to cross your fingers and pray when you've got a home to go back to, isn't it? Max has a job and friends but the rest of them will just be trading one shithole for whatever one they can find to escape from the trannie haters."

And now I'm the one who is angry. I'm angry because Hope has a point and I don't have answers but Max has done so much for us. We're alive because of Max. "She saved my life, all of our lives."

"She ruined mine." Hope says it with a shrug and no ounce of emotion. "She bought us out in the open. Made it harder to live and work."

"Work at what? The job you're so proud of that you can't even tell anybody about it?" The words are harsh but they have no impact on her.

"You think that's why I haven't told you what I do; because I'm ashamed? I'm not. I'm proud of my job, so fucking proud that you wouldn't believe it, but that's my business. I'm not going to be forced into a corner just because some brat stamps her feet."

I want to cry at her words but I'm too angry. She throws them at me so easily and hits every mark while anything I say back is met with nonchalance or amusement. "What did Max ever do to you?"

Hope remains impassive. "Nothing. She's just not good enough to lead us through this chaos."

There is no bitterness in Hope's voice as she speaks, merely an observation and a certainty that she is absolutely right.

She kicks at a deformed corpse. "And the infirmary is just the start. We're gonna turn the whole city around. Make it a place worth living in."

I already know the answer to my next question but I'm stupid enough to want confirmation on it. "And does Max know about this?"

Hope smiles coldly as she answers. "No, Max doesn't know anything about this...and she won't," she says, levelling a hard stare our way, just in case any of us are stupid enough to think of telling her.

I have no plans to tell Max but I'm not letting Hope off the hook that easily. "But she'll have to know eventually. She's still our leader, whatever you think of her."

"She's leader for now. Things change." Then she gives another shrug and tells us to keep up as she manoeuvres her way through rotting bodies. No one, even me, dares to question her further.

It plays on my mind, even when I'm out of The Lotus and back in my makeshift bed. I worry, for Hope but mostly for Max. I wouldn't put it past Hope to try and displace Max but it's the question of how she will do it that bothers me most. Max isn't going to simply step aside and her siblings would never let anyone force her out of her position- but, then, Hope is nothing if she isn't determined. She is notorious for taking risk and betting against the odds. What lengths will she go to in order to achieve her goal? Could she really assassinate her own sister?

It scares me that I still don't know the answer to that question.


End file.
